The Rattler of Keys
The Rattler of Keys Carapace of fake smiles— eventually the day will ease into a long permanent dream, a ghost ration of sweat lying in my eyelids folding the years where timid stars hide in silence. This dream is dying and it has asked for my body. It wants me to jump in the river and search for an ocean inside a rose. It burns my skin until there is nothing left but impotent verses reaching for the stars, suffocating. Run, go tell the jailer it is time for the execution.