TWISTED FINGERS

TWISTED FINGERS


In a hallway of open doors to numbered rooms gray and dim
reside chattering echoes.  Tenants cunning, bouncing to and fro
wanting to escape beyond their frame; wanting to carry and
be carried, on.  With their hands outstretched, nails  breaking
the abyssal plane of their exit, pulling at the fabric of entrance
the closer I pass; a grip wanting a pair of shoulders to ride upon. 

They kiss my wants the nearer I come.  Loving vowels of dripping honey
a sweet delight until biting in half the worm undulating therein;
its poison delusory on a path with one end.  Its renters of pretense ache
for a fertile mind.  Thoughts of peat to nest and grow within. 

Doors - open wide or just ajar
Doors - to close but checking as I do
for the weight of spindly fingers

...hanging from my back.