Sharon Kourous
Exequies
As the dust in the corner escapes once again
the broom, it enjoys a good laugh; at night
it watches the spider and smugly grins:
it’s been there. Consider horizons - a sight
grown distantly familiar. Notably absent:
yourself. Remember a cause of the crimson
dalliance of sunset is, after all, dust.
Beneath the floorboards of opulent rooms
in late 20th C., the scuffling bug
never ponders ontology. Whatever small glooms
are his, the future’s not one. Nor the tug
of any emotion not hormonal. Consider love’s
utility. Prefer short perspectives over long.
Take survival. Flame your horizon with crimsons.
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Page(s) 5-6
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