Hatchet Men

by Christopher Barnes

Conveyor belt in graphic shifts.
A trap door spiderís spirited for a week or two,
Death in motion, a swarm of years.
That binding
Insinuates the shadow of their foreboding;
This repudiates grace.
Your fall backís too maladjusted to touch.
Where is your temper now?


Hatchet Men by Christopher Barnes

© Copyright 2012. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.



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