L’Ennui

“Il rêve d’échafauds en fumerant son houka.”

–Baudelaire

The hangman’s stink is
Damp and heavy.
His splintered feet are rigid:
Dead and buried.

Climb upon his staircase knee.
Hear it creak arthritically.
His spine set straight
So the crowd can see

His smoking mouth now
Feeding at your chest,
As you dangle

Without action,
Without rest.

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