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Poem

Lemon sour thoughts in aquamarine
imagery of dry desire pure pale powdered sage 
quaint quear copulate of Cupids
with bows that draw Archaic archer 
arrows aimed at the blackest of hearts
drum bitter black regrets into souls depths 
dark deeds, something rages rare raw 
Crimson liquor that lingers on the floor 
in lavish lacquered halls, intricate doors
weathered by thunderstorms lashing the walls 
where once elegant lush balls drive men, women twirling, dancing till dawn
Are in full burn, blares bright until the wee artificial hours of midnight 
of wet tropical rains, hurricanes 
gain power and destruction
by morn born falling silver rain 
in the light of a pure pale Moon, wax, and wane 
Clouds receded fade away
transfix by orbs of Odin Odd Omnipotent eye 
full and alive burning bright 
in cold cobalt midnights a wash all 
in the fallacies of youth 
the breath of God’s are ghosts in ruins 
the cascade of the insane 
Our sour lemon thoughts and aquamarine dreams 
Are oblique obsolete imagery fading in fleeting lives

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