Something Wild To Pour Over Ice

Crimson fire flecks my wrist...

I, an estranged prisoner of whims

is out here on a limb

with barely a cloth to cover swinging nuts and berries...

The Magician’s list of countless admirers has become

a mad riot like a swarm of bees where something sinister

floats above the night-time branches

in the woods where trees

take second chances, and remain in the

humble presence of aloof mad men...

These woods are haunted by forgotten murders,

and fractured panes of glass slide in my bleeding gaps...

...Forgive me while I ask

how and when you came to fall upon

this paralyzed state

where your knees shake, and shutter from the inside?...

The nightly winds come home to taunt you

with their fierce, unrelentless hiss

to crack a gaze into the swirling

snake-pit of pragmitism...

A pained face in the reflected blue

confesses to itself while the winding road

of worry lines cast a shadow

like a road sign lurching up

from the highway

on a night

spent horrendously

in a barely waking state...

Crimson fire flecks my wrist!...

Inhaling karma traces

from the confines of your gas chamber,

unbeknowst to none...

Your eyes close off, and you become

an iron lung...

A chimney with a drooping chalice...

A nap-sack slung over a shoulder with a helpless sway...

Tonight I burn from worlds astray that pile near a

swelling dumpster, striving in their elegant invisiblity

to be seen and heard,

or even tripped over by some stupid wasted fucking asshole;

as we miss the boat, and endless road obstructions

to return to what has long existed

’neath our toes that taste the grass with eager straws

caressing nectar of the Gods.

©

7/28/20

Bunny Villaire

Edit #2