Tiny crocheted chair


Tiny crocheted chair

Such a solitary figure amidst

Those demonic playmates

Who tickle the air dry of all rationale

All sensible demeanor

It is futile, of course, to remain indifferent towards you

A single step could destroy your very reason for being

That which I do not comprehend myself

But in my own way, I find you beguiling

You could be the marvel of the ant king,


A throne of such great stature that your porcelain friends

Would cower in dismay

For fear of fracture

The dining community

Ageing with a soulless pleasure, would be your minions, as it were

The core of your kingdom

I know you will not admit defeat, my friend

Fragile, yet relentless

You are an outsider who seeks comfort in the mundane

In the desert of the bizarre

A companion of the domestic, a motionless wanderer in

‘La cuisine des cauchemares’









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