Continued from Part 1
The forgery of multitudes between the silhouettes,
(And discarded cigarettes, neath the haunted parapets)
Mock my lonely echoed steps - mock my lonely echoed steps
(Struck like clicking castanets- struck like clicking castanets )
As I lace unlabeled lanes, erasing silence’ sullen treason.
The mossy stones befuddle me, in winding rue rosettes,
(Lost within the oubliettes, and in vials of anisette)
Midst the mazy minuets, and the purling pirouettes
Of the fugitive Grisettes (flaunting charms and amulets)
Who, in flitting shades of arching bridges, linger longer, teasin’.
Along the When I’m drifting, just a stardust castaway,
Weaving, threading by cafés and deserted cabarets,
Just a gauzy appliqué on the river’s crippled spray,
Chasing Fools along the way through the strands of yesterday,
Neath the throbbing peal of sobbing bells of spectral cloisters quaking.
In belfries, high and haughty, alabaster knights perform,
Riding stiff against a storm, steeped in clouds of chloroform,
While the raven skies deform and my shrivelled shovelled form
(Watching bats in steeples swarm close to candles waxing warm)
Hides in hallowed hallways, hanging, shoulders weary, weak and shaking.
Above me hover grinning masks and visages of Queens
Spewing fatal final scenes (against a scarlet sky they lean,
Dreary dripping guillotines) of demented doomed Dauphines,
Traced in opalescent ballrooms only tattered time remembers.
The hidden hands of Harlequins (while floating free, unseen,
Behind abandoned shuttered screens, inside of shrouded Halloweens)
Tap (on tumbrel tambourines) a dirge (with tattooed tones pristine)
For me (a heap in ragged jeans within this crazy cluttered scheme),
Trapped interred in toppled stone chateaus that dismal dawn dismembers.
Rogue breezes pierce, benumbing me, I feel my fingers freezin’
(In the cockcrow’s purple season) though within, no rhyme or reason,
Caught impaled upon the jagged edge of early morning’s breaking.
The chill evoking silver chimes of Nodomain start knelling
As the searing sun looms swelling, and their melodies hang dwelling
In the cloud drifts’ care, revelling, but the Sandman’s too compelling
And my weariness impelling - though my eyelids risk rebelling,
Where I’ll fall, there’s no foretelling for the starry sky’s past telling,
As I fade beneath the flaming forge while embers tremble, waking.