The Production

9/25/12 Unfolding like a production Spilling in a traumatic flow of entrance How it flew in like a masquerade of woe Into the bloodied snow Crunching ice burning into my toes Left in the disease of my own mind Can’t find words to unwind this tape Coldness flushing crimson—cutting loose Skin of resentment and horror Emptying the last of negativity I abhor How has it gotten this quiet? Ever since the production of riot Of silent film—of blood—and him Dawning on me an introduction so mastered Carved from images of mass destruction A plot never complete But void of the bitter in the sweet Concentrated harmonies of silence Lights emanating sadness and wordless lament Screaming at me. . .screaming But what can I do? The show has merely begun—and so have you