Eek. Poetry again. What can I say?
This prompt and the ridotto form, which is both cool and hard.
Title: Mångata*
WC: 94
You paced. The trip and tick of long black nails
Percussion, feet planted, you at once set sail
Fearless, the sinister hush of night
Spun like music from rippling lemon light
I tick. I scroll. A thousand songs
(and twice that in curses). All along
you raced onward far ahead
My apron-string terrors still spread
like anguished white birch limbs
The swell of decadent hymns
beckons restless feet
Where blank horizons meet
the tick and trip
of seconds, you skip
silver stones
The chalk of bones
outlined
a steel mind
brave
as waves
MTZQ Telecommuniculturates 