A voluntary retreat, away from
shoulders grinding together,
mornings draped in cobwebs
away from bleeding nostrils.
A calm early hours shift, in favour
of darkened afternoons.
That air that now feels like steel pins,
our mouths happy to receive.
The cages of teeth lifted, and our
restraints no longer confined to pillows
and bad conversation.
Our charge, delivered from a pulpit,
a monotone drone, that falls on
open ears yet is never digested
by actions; a fragile pose that snaps
at the first presentation.
Once the posturing is over, and we
drain our organs, cleansed again as
that slight whisper becomes a chorus,
and we gradually wilt along without will,
and embrace this inevitable chaos.
Jonathan Butcher was born and lives in Sheffield, England.
He has has had work appear in various print and online
publications, including Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys, The Morning Star, The Transnational, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review and others. His Third chapbook 'Corroded Gardens' was published in 2019 by Fixator Press.
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