Grand Finale

The November temple is empty
the sacrifice finished.
Leaves scatter in the wind;
branches snap
like dry bones
of an unearthed skeleton.

The hole
in my graveyard chest
is empty
and black birds pick
at the pearls
which were my eyes.
 
Houdini’s midnight cape
settles with a flourish.
The show is over.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s