Bone fingers rap
beside
hang nail moon.
Splattered plaster stars
tap
into universal
heartbeats,
over emulsion painted
blue skies.
The backdrop
to the diorama play set
of this world of ours.
On the desk
a battered notepad lies.
Hourglasses line
the dusty dusk lit shelves.
Candles help the light to blend,
bending the shadows to reveal
the concealed surrealness
plastered over the walls.
Roadmaps to nowhere at all
and back again.
Road maps marking
pathways of pain.
Black eye sockets glance
at words
on ancient machine.
Stuttering static dances
glitching across
mystical computer screen.
The list of names twitch. Itching.
Inching away from view
not wanting to be seen,
but these eyes need
to see,
for this list
of names must be
visited and guided
to lands unseen.
The twitching screen
murderously lists hours.
The witching hour
screeches in pain.
Reality slowly falls
and cowers
as all the
hourglasses smash,
and a bell is tolled.
Sand is cast
across this desk,
so enormously vast.
Time for work he speaks.
He picks up his notepad,
to save the last words.
Words so deathly grim.
The night shift
always the worst,
his list full to the brim.
Thanks for reading
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