The Mad Woman In The Attic And The Traceries Of Time Or A Pavane Fro Ophelia Poem by Andy Brookes

Mercenary mercies an anniversaries anniversary
ave maria's summoned to see clock welded hands bending
psalm of psalms chanceries echoing with religomania
with a sweet scented she strolls in alliteration
she asks, to no one in particular, time to start time again
but those present slide in slow motion uttering cliches.

her voice swift as the speed of light is but a gnats wing buzz each on calcified ears or a chitter chatter of crickets.
movements it seems are glossed in syrup, gloop, gloop.
she cries enough but no one sees her arcing across the room
pulling at the hands of static time with a wild frenzied air.
doomed she thinks doomed and doomed again
but she is the last woman standing in roomful of mannequins
go figure she says sighing with sadness and madness
for it is to close to call.