Jezebel Poem by Oisin Vink

There was always a shimmer in the bottle,
Whilst the ceiling has become my other half;
Cobwebbed and stewing in a red afterglow.
The street lights flicker toward the surface;
Collections of portraits;
Little lines.

The harlequin framed Jezebel
Has become a Trinity,
Drooping downwardly.
White oleander blossoms
That left each other,
One by one,
In search of fairer weather;
If only to wither away in the early hours.

The indefinite salute.
A sharp bag that dislodges the dirt
Above the door frame,
A rain soaked misdirection
That travels onward through the atmosphere.

It was always the little things.