Acid Campfire
It might be Tuesday in
the midst of June
a calendar droops from a
rusty tack
confused in its crumbling
sepia tones
they cant quite
recall wo placed it there
or when, yet they have a
vague impression
of a silhouette similar
to theirs, decades before.
Someone set fire to a
desk in the living room
to make a feast
reminiscent of their teens
when they escaped to the
dark forest
and sat around the
makeshift hearth as magicians
when their dreams were
still puerile
they could laugh without
retribution.
It may have been twenty
years ago or perhaps one
they have not ventured to
the streets in ages
subdued by an existence
without imagination
they slouch in boneless
bodies
glassy eyes into
landscapes no one else can perceive
they might well become
part of the wooden floor.
They are five, perhaps
twenty without a will
to stand or change the
channels on the antique screen
they did laundry once and
left it to rot
it was weeks ago, should
they ask the neighbors?
but swimming through
inches of dirt
wallowing in remnants of
forgotten orgies they lay.
Someday their abode will
implode
for a mistake under the
expected influence
all who have survived
will finally find a brutal end
in the flames of oddly
concocted hallucinations
for a life without debt
in a pricey world
too weak to face the
humility of decent days.
Beauty
Masks
Beloved child she
stumbled on a limelight stage
wearing heels made for a
mother
cheered on by strange
adults with fancy cameras
she pursed lips in what
she thought a smile.
Frail legs swayed with
newly found pain
hoses, mascara, and other
devices
prescribed by an
ambitious manager
she is six, might as well
be twenty.
She traveled many ages
and numerous cities
on luxury transport and
first line air
sniffing caviar, Havanas,
and cocaine
forms preserved by
chemicals and a little touch up.
She recalls those days
when it felt so good
to show angular curves
bathed in two pieces
of thousand-dollar
fabrics per inch
before the party to
celebrate her twenties.
A monument now she feels
nothing
under the artificial
layers tailored for a future
walking to cheer on her
replacements
so artificial the mirror
reflects a stranger.
It has been many visits
to the sterile rooms
under bright lights again
and silent walls
as she tried to recover a
youth not her own
and succeeded so in
looking like anothers ghost.
Still
Failing
Gazing upon the line in
the sky, he wishes to capture signs
words upon the azure
nebulae of forgotten eternity
if only a gentle storm
would form in the hours heat.
Then perhaps in a voice
of many echoes he would claim
to the depth of infinite
galaxies a final message
in the accents of
vanished tales fiery tragedies.
Inhaling the hues of his
domain recalling a renaissance
with dense blues swarming
greens and devilish reds
to create in the sphere a
masterpiece of melodious airs.
Madly grabbing at ghosts
of past aromas swirling
he is a twirling dervish
approaching a troublesome trance
as hopes the size of
quanta vanish in a cruel tease.
He wants to taste the
pearls of the heavenly nectar
swallow this concoction
of undecipherable signals
running to the invasion
of a threatening enemy.
Begging for an ultimate
prompt he falls to the brazen ground
genuflecting in a
humblest prayer captured by deathly silence
never to be revealed the
key to her magical riddle.
What
if?
Leaning upon the crannied
wall of the castle
he observes the stranger
who crosses the bridge
light as air in her long
summer dress.
and he wonders what
if?
Fearful to approach this
lady above the clouds
might he once even dare
utter her name
as she continues her
noble steps
unaware of the eyes
attached to her motion.
But what if she knew of
him all along
and dreamed as he did of
a few stolen moments
under the watchful eye of
the guards
engaged to spread rumors
and crush childrens fantasies.
Perhaps he should scream
her name
see it carried with a
gentle breeze
to deposit a light kiss
on her crimson cheek
perhaps then she would
turn to him and smile.
When a
Woman
The days on the beach
resonate still
and I am transported to
the fiery sands
of a riviera made of near
accurate imitations
waiting for the sun to
etch a new hue upon my skin.
Still a child I threw
this awkward shell into the salt
thick waters that took me
away to the horizon
enveloped me in a
tenderness I did not know
I thought I might awaken
in another land.
School years come back to
haunt my young bones
with the vengeance of so
many refusals
when I sat in the front
row and dreamed
of illicit embraces in
emptied hallways filled with ice.
I knew soon it would be a
suit I would boast
fashioning shapes yet
strange to my breaths
and gazes would fall upon
me as if to claim
every one of those
moments I had thought mine.
As all do I fell for the
charm of so many a knight
riding high on a roaring
stallion
to sweep me up and take
me to his realm
and serve as I had read
little girls must.
Often facing the tall
mirror in my lonely room
I wondered what had
happened to this puerile body
when I thought I could be
equal in passion
give as I might receive
and forget my assigned role.
It is too late now as I
gather the memories
images of many ages in
sepia tones
wrinkles in time as they
may be on the skin
feminine then now
forgotten.