Samuel Kendall



A drunk decaying moth


A drunk decaying moth

hovers drip-drab through a silvered attic,

at home in the folded corners

of later gone unspoken.

Plaits its nest in the rafters

above dishevelled sheets

festooned with peacock quills,

uncombed, tousled and tangled,

so full of hair, and ponders

the encroaching moon

that brought it here

inside, ashen outsides

of unfurling oyster pearls.

Flits around the splayed subject,

death’s head tacked forever to its thorax,

cursing the Moirai, snarled in the thread.

Questions if it matters;

the allure and the decision,

the kink and the break,

plants its feelers

on the empty side of the bed.


Ponders its mistakes,

if they were really mistakes

at all.





Samuel Kendall is from Nottingham and was recently awarded The Angela Carter Prize in Creative Writing. He co-edits Cicatrice journal with The University of Sheffield and has been published in Three Drops from a Cauldron, Route 57, Picaroon and Laldy.



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