I almost forgot how much fun it is to make book spine poems. My last one was about a year ago (and led to an interview at the OED), so it’s about time I did another. This one tells a miniature story.
*
When the Lights Go Down
Stranger on a train, heading inland,
Civilwarland in bad decline.
Autumn-dark voyage,
The light of evening,
The signal and the noise.
One shot without conscience
when the lights go down:
Death in a white tie, a brilliant void.
Reader, I murdered him.
*
Posted by Stan Carey 
