The Sensation
Busy with a dial,
My fingers won’t move
They’ve burnt out, gone numb.
They’ve traveled the airways of this
Plastic handle.
Traveled for days, weeks
I’m sure they’ve seen the other side
By now.
What other view is there Annabelle?
There’s the hungry owl-eyed apparition,
He strokes your hair in the moonlight.
Reverend Michael told me so.
I swear it, him and his rusted cane,
Him and his dog bones
Him and his horn-rimmed glasses.
With the twisted wire,
There is a reason the alligators at the swamp
Have swarmed and cringed at the sight
Of death, Annabelle.
Come, listen, listen,
I know this.
I know.
(10)
