FOSSIL

FOSSIL

call me a fossil
but my eyes
are fixed like Medusa’s om
the clock that be
telling me
I got ninety
seconds to midnight

got me wondering
when midnight chimes
what in
    this fairy tale
gets deconstructed, what
gets utterly transformed

and me
    having to make my
own way, own
sorry way

        all the way back home
forsaking the regal palace

as it warps and
shape-shifts and dissolves

as the book instructs
on practically every page
of its
     dense, comple text

trapped between
such
    fiery covers
(colour

        in this instance
saying it all)