Death and a Cup of Joe
“when rainclouds speak no more
through the Autumn of the sea”
recites death while
sitting on his pedestal and sipping warm cappucino
prince
he thinks
or maybe I’m a jester, with
no king and
no court
eyes seeking
searching his soul from beyond the
gaseous nicotine, beyond the
dark realms of jaded spotlight
a mournful hope or a
simple prayer
avoid his wicked grasp
hold tight to your masques, he says
it’ll be OK.
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