"In the shadow's tower"
Ana Boičević

In the shadow’s tower

the furniture’s nailed down or furry. Or made to look

like furniture, so labeled. Useless. On visits you bend

through trapdoors or break headfirst through a plaster

crawlspace. Song of walled in, glued to or painted over and over,

a stalled clock on the gray tower.

 

Long ago they marched into the blank coat of arms.