As dayspring swallows darkness
light hangs curdled, olivine
like the toxic breath of gods.
On the piazza’s edge
a callous sun splits the arcades:
white hot stucco; charcoal ashlar.
A wagon stands iron-wheeled
and empty, the beast not long gone
its warm dung still steaming.
In the street a clockwork child
bowls her hoop along an egg-yellow
avenue of innocence.
Her pulse is clotted, beatless
her childhood stiff as a stick.
Dissonance rapes the stillness.
The poke of a growing shadow
looms black as sin, its saurian tail
flicking the ground with lust.
Lips curled, hackles matted
the prowling creature drools
behind the cool colonnade.
Inside the box I crouch, twisted
flawed, braced in the corner
waiting for the scream.
