Mr. Macabre, sing to me from the throat
of twilight’s carburetors, inhaling,
getting stoned from exhausting manifolds.
Shifting into overdrive with an angel
on my back, whispering, “It’s a Long Way
to Tipperary.” As the engine screams,
against the dark and cold fingers grip
my shoulders. Mr. Macabre sings to me,
a eulogy.
Rated for Everyone
Mr. Macabre
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Told you, you’d never leave us, AA – you’re imagination is much too boundless and unique for that, so glad for you – Harriet-Jacqui xx
Thank you, Harriet-Jacqui.