~
Black as coal.
Moth or myth?
It helps with the lights out.
And travels by thought.
Cleopatra enters Rome,
Dropping names,
Reciting pagan poetry,
Knocking on forbidden doors.
Nicole sees shadows
Of her former self
Staring back at her,
Rock paper scissors,
The color of three.
Give and take after take
On the burning soil
Of a blurred crusade.
Typewriters
And other assorted weapons
Form white lies and alibis,
Calibrating the dusted variations
Of a caught-on-camera obscura,
It is a dark waltz,
Some small hope still,
Yet there's a comma after still.
~