Monday, April 5, 2010

Breath of a Dying dream
your sanguine tunic
is not welcome here

your buddy is waiting outside
your platitudes and attitude
are a plague upon this house

You once flowed with honesty
nervous, maybe, not
But this Icarus has found his
home outside the extinguished flames

such a dilapidated place it is
with termitic Victorian paneling
creaking floors Sirens cry
when the rocks were falling where
was your Sistine Chapel
When in the summer of our youths
you unhorsed our grace

What have you become
What have you made us

Five fingers penetrate the blissful air
Dagny Dagny Dagny
fledgling whispers are no match
for the ethereal symphonies

and there was no hope in this bottom
less pittances, and this womb has
become crowded and perspiring
Throbbing hoping to be called upon

Those satisfactions minutiae for
glass jawed students of Tiresias

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