coiled & ready

the gallows waits
with the patience of a holy man,
wanting you,
but more than that,
wanting you to volunteer.
the gallows waits,
all deliberate spiders,
figuring the things –
the youth trotting on,
the ripened train,
the stench of microwaved fish
will gradually get to you
and you’ll smilingly
hand yourself over.
the gallows waits
and welcomes the way
a grandparent or a priest might
but it lies too
lies about the intractability
of things and places
and the way the balls
roll for everyone.
If I were you,
I’d sooner listen
to the blackbirds.


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