Hanging with the Fancies

Hung in my Sunday suit
a demonstration of my defeat,
hung before the words who
whore themselves to bitter wires.

Their chiming laughter outbound
and echoed through a padded room
rising to the surface, just
waiting for the blood to flow.

they shatter the isolation
with sarcastic routine,
floodlighting the floor show
with domestic hostility.

but hooked to the same little will
maybe one laborious you
will see that I am restless
and aching for the rainbow black.