Plot Lines in D Flat
........
Intellectual beggars panning for a final note
The near holy sound of a saxophone crescendo
........
Dropping us down
................
To a higher level
The deep piercing sounds of an archer-less cello
................
Firing bass cleft arrows at passers-by
Pointing us in the direction of
........
Xylophonic dinosaurs of rubber mallet rhythms
And steel plate rhapsody
........
Leading us to the doors of a blinder perception
Where an ivory eyed key bearer points us -onward-
........
Questioning that way!
Half aware of his place in this melodic plot line
.........
Intertwining
................
Mingling with the singing
Of a flute playing madman
........
Whistling that the end of the journey
........................
Is progression itself
To cymbalic applause and timber clad thunder
................
In a dizzying story
................................
Of plot lines in D flat
As of yet
Nights light filters through transcendent
Windows of obtuse construction
Their light settling down
Like a layer of mist;
Not content to settle on its
Rose petal nests
It slowly descends
The fluently chaotic banister of night
Finding refuge on a ribbon of hair
I sit in awe of its mundane
Elegance, its forgotten beauty
A subtle hint adding only
To a moment, a faint glimmer
Of what could be,
Stolen by an early eve's whisper
In seclusion of shadow and soundless
Dream,
The short lived hopes of an early
Aged existence gone with a faint murmur
Of unfulfilled possibility,
Sealed with a lyrical embrace
Lost in the orgiastic trance
Of starlit euphoria
She smoothes the ocean of
Gossamer fire from her chest,
And sits entranced by the
Ever fleeting rapture of
Bleakly drawn life
Pictures of Dress Up
Lamplights flicker like fireflies
Tied down to asphalt streams
Their faint light lazily reflecting off the harbor,
She sips whiskey from refraction
Making rainbows on a
Rundown apartment wall
Relinquishing her head to
The Dizzying sounds and smell
Of day old alcohol stains
Tossing a single black pedal
Into her glass
Resigning herself to drawing
On napkins with lipstick
She smoothes the wrinkles
From her dress
Watching the waves of
Fabric glide across her legs
Someday she may find a trace
Of her life in some box
Of pictures of dress up Christmas
Tree Hoopla
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