The Decline of the American Doorbell

Whatever happened to the days of the doorbell inspector?


that soul
uptight
little man-
the one that would come to you,
with nose in the air
glasses drifting back and forth
dependent only on the angle of neck tilt

He would come to your home
ring your bell...
if you answered
he'd collect his fare

if no one obliged his tolling
he would
notarize
appropriately

It's been a long many days
and he believes
he must be
the only
person
alive
with a working doorbell

to think, he once pitied the poor telephone dialer, the voiceless voice spinning the disc to gain the line, only to be hung up on, dial-tones and disconnect.

…and he's begun to construct an updated resume

as he heard that there may be an opening

in the department of oxygen.

When Collectors Come

Collector,

Aggregator of souls,

Come you have to claim,

For what you feel is owed,

A pact was drawn,

Or so you say,

Between the darkness and the light,

Forego you state,

A sacrifice I had embraced,

Sealed in flame,

Etched in blood,

If I run,

Flee toward rescue,

More deadly collectors,

Will surely come,

Come now, make this quick,

Demise is worse when you dwell on it,

Is not a future delayed, yet a future still?

If you force the chains released,

The second sentinel that shall come,

Are bred in violence, without love,

All they know is what they are told,

With green light flashing for their part,

Unsympathetic their methods will be,

Corrupted tools of agony,

Shall be utilized,

Forging smiles upon glowing eyes,

Taking comfort dissecting all shreds remaining,

Every piece still intact,

The more their wishes you do fight,

Their smiles uncovered gleaming bright,

Corresponding pleasure with your fall,

It is best you yield now,

Still your soul reclaimed,

Yet in this case,

The feast shall commence

Well after all life has bled,

You are not the first,

You will not be the last,

To close the sale,

To repay the debt,

Aligned you shall be, with the rest, for eternity