The Mortality Tango

At times I feel like an old book spine...

Fatally frayed at the edges, but somehow the pages hang

So desperately together, suspended in time

Like a 50's biker gang passing out smokes

outside a store they have plans to trash...

Or an ancient piano that you find in a burnt down building

That must have been a school or something,

But now has no educational function except as a time capsule,

Which is pretty damn educational actually...

Spray painted by perhaps the same kids that frequented the school once upon a time...

The circle of life...

Sometimes I feel creaky,

And snaky as an old alley cat...Meow!...

Maybe that's why I always love old alley kitties and reach to pet them whatever the flea ridden worm happy consequences...

My body beckons from the graveyard of life,

And I feel the soil inch up around me like a python hug,

But with each Mortality Tango

I come closer to tasting my youth in all it's raw acrid acid reflux abundance...

So often we don't know what we have until

It's forgotten,

Though the eyes of a child are never gone

Only shunned out of blindness, and disorganized disregard...

At times I feel like an old book spine...

Fatally frayed at the edges, but somehow the pages hang

desperately together, suspended in time...

Dipped in the liquid quicksand that passerby's so often miss...

From the future I watch you through the glass from the outside

As you live and breathe within this school before the fire...

The standard lessons slide right by you,

Arithmetic, and History class dissolve...

But there's something far more canny

That's being vacuumed

Up via your cranium...

The fly inside the ointment...

The rift that links both worlds...

I see it glisten in your window gazing orbs...

The sun goes down, and as it's colors dissipate

The school is burned to ash, but you still move

And change within the haunted bird who beats her feathers

Inside and upon the funeral pyre of existence...

The Mortality Tango

Has your number by it's sights...

...Holds my digits over waterfalls like the castrated balls

In a Mapplethorpe picture...

Spells the cut out words dramatically staining

The naked wall of a public stall in sleazy neon...

Rolls the icy hard dice, and then there we go...

...We're off and running!...

Bunny Villaire

6/24/23

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