Worthless

Worthless

by Kurt Broz

The broken wheels of

twisting clocks spinning

in all directions

Magnifying glasses cover

fleshy fruits and

rotting red meats

Glass plates scrape

against domes of light

pillars of silky glow

Unnoticed he slips

into a warm bath of

pitted cowbells and other

nonsensical things

Darkened days and

Well-lit nights conceal

The faded and torn

Filed-away though

Worthless

If morning does not come

he will not mourn it

heaving heavily in dropping

tears

Quickened and sightless

despair makes home

in hollowed out burrows

A tarantula town

He pleads with no one

to make peace with

nothing

again

No one answers with a laugh

and brushes him off

of a tan tweed jacket

He falls into himself and

tries not to expel

Pandora’s Box