I.
Infinitely wise...
the sun,
wages its war,
on wet,
spent cheeks.
It assaults the tears,
that spring forth,
like leaky water,
from a ***** faucet.
It glares, at the others
beginning to stream,
and lectures them, too,
into a temporary silence.
...As I wait...
I'm drifting, in...
and out,
of conscious states,
like the world's soberest ******
Drunk on pain, remorse,
and "look-alive" pills,
I dream, into the abyss
as the surrounding trees,
bare gleaming arms,
and shake dramatic, gold fistfuls,
of leaves,
like slinky cabaret girls.
II
In the background, of the cloud,
are good things.
Shivery theremin music,
tickling the back, of my neck,
in teasing touches...
the sinuous sound, of grilling meat,
the hiss, and crack,
of cheap soda can tabs,
being popped,
all around.
Splashy stands, pumpkin explosions,
and floral skulls.
Horror, mingles with erotica.
Gore streaks mild, cartoonish tableaus.
Every movie monster,
every socially-gilded serial murderer,
every "final girl" you ever yearned to be,
is larger than life, and gorgeously represented, here;
Penny dreadfuls, and penny candies.
Taxidermy, spell candles,
and crystal-mommy trinkets
squabble over elbow room,
at the same tables.
Robust, carved, intricate, painted, silly.
A delightful machination,
of the grim, and novel.
And my lips, make smiles;
my chords, vocalize,
and my sun-dried face,
it tells no tales.
But, now and then,
my head...
it drifts back,
towards the cloud...
and, my thoughts,
are just like, the dancing skeletons...
that waltz proudly, in place,
inside their Victorian lamp, snow globes--
they just keep spinning, spinning...