Gloves - The Horrors

Today I found a baby’s glove

Lying on the drainage board, so still

Yesterday a leather glove

From the slim fingered hand of a woman

The next time I saw one

It was lying half frozen

And twisted on the herb

And I couldn’t take it

Now I have my own private collection

All lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors

Now I have no room for my obsession

Lined up and labelled in neat little packets

The next time I saw one

It stuck inside my head

And became all that

I could think about

And through wax seals and padlocks

A hand through my ribcage

Past the choking I saw palms and fingers grasping

Shoulders.

collarbone.

crushing

I imagined myself

Hacking desperately at a sea of appendages

Forward and right

Freeing myself like a butcher

Feeling the mash of bone and sinew

Running slowly down the front of my body

And I couldn’t take it any more

I said, I’ve got to go

I’ve got to get out of here

I’ve got to go

And I ran down the street

I’ve got to go

I’ve got to get out of here

I’ve got to go