For Clancy
Death didn’t look how I imagined he would.
Death didn’t look how I imagined he would.
Nine dragons perched on nine towers, chained.
A clockwork heart sat abandoned, missing its gears.
If every heartbeat is a kickdrum…
“It is time,” Sun says.
Again? I almost sigh; it’s pointless. I trudge towards the horizon, harpoon in hand.
The reflection shatters into a thousand shards, resplendent, subversive, cutting edges catching light.
As a child I was told belief is faith…
Weather’s five children sat at the top of a trench, hating the music of the village below.
A street exists with relentless rain where three streetlamps flicker and a fourth is black.
Her father sat her in front of a piano as a child, held her in his lap, brought music into her world.