The clock ticks

without a tock

Under the cradle, they sidle

nightmarish malice whispers

into the ears of the deaf.

The space disappears

and we’re filled with nicotine.

The breath of royals

never slips below a hundred degrees

and desperate trees

give their souls.

It ticks

and the clock stops

They gave their best

licking their lips

promising married marble

Teeth never lie

but that doesn’t stop them.

The clock ticks

and the clock stops

Over the mantle

the ashes smell of memories

that settle in the eaves of the frosted sheets

It ticks,

yes, they tick.

And the dogs howl

and die in the street