John C. Nash ~ Spines

when churchyards yawn
and graves give up their dead
the inheritors
glister
in the dead of night

what am I doing here
where nightmares are
twisted
here be daemons
a happy death

one
black cat bone
a handful of dust
those barren leaves

the nameless
cold hand in mine
never let me go

the awakening
nausea
the breakfast machine
plays unpleasant
illusions

the asylum dance
swithering
in the palm of your hand

all of us
hide now

 

John C. Nash finally settled down as a self-employed bookbinder and writer in Northampton, England. His poetry has been published in various magazines including Antiphon, Cake, The Delinquent, Danse Macabre and The Lighthouse Literary Journal.

spines

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