Serena Malcolm

Taken in.
Scattered vim,
Like confetti to the wind,
Empty palm
of sallow skin,
Cold and thin
from a tiredness that’s hunkered in
the very core of everything.
What is this thing?
Ephemera.
Magician’s sin.
No hint of paper left within
this hollow tin.
This wraith in skin
and bone
and two-bit grin
is spiralling
while the tricksy djinn
with Keyser Söze’s tricksy limb
dances in
the colours
dancing
on
the
wind.