Stitch, a horror poem

How I would prefer a sewing table to this rickety metal gurney. Mouth dangling thread tails are catching sweat beads on their journey from my forehead like an amateur I hurry. Hemming another running line in furry. One more seam, and then a taper. Bastings, patches, all needled proper. And the banging on the doorContinue reading “Stitch, a horror poem”