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(Prelude)

A practicing hermit comes ‘board the train— 
"Faux Pas Degenerate’s the name."
The sundial dust of a spider 
on silken words retires; 
Easy now with walking 
‘fore the secret slips out: Desire.
 
"Paranoia: witch’s brew. 
All the nights that don’t eschew 
the voice within that won’t be silent—
though if it could, it would be violent,

and violet and blue, and other colors bestowing rue, 
such as onyx heart, maroon sigh, 
and forlorn lusterless copper good-bye."

___


Wanted: Queen of Stars,
 
above Rooftops and Reason.
 
Crumbling old stone is the image of life,
destroy the blood weather and along with it 
strife.

Kill her 
kill ‘er killer 
killed her needed her money 
makes the world stop—
sorry about that.

I once felt Reap coming for me 
and the warmth of summer caressed me glacial.
We once perceived gorgeous black in its natural state
and entombed within was that lone tear of Captain Ahab.
I eat Desire and churn out mistakes, 
then hop on the road and become the Scarecrow
fated to be a sun-dried corpse reintegrating,
sweet-smelling, exhibiting as a '95 screen shot transmuting.
The rain spatters upon the window-pane 
like kisses you wish would corrode that skin—
it’s an actor’s life for me.

Is there a feast for this host? 
Yes I say it’s fine we’re always fine people 
knife eyes, dandelion eyes; 
frozen cries in absconded brine.

After the fact? After the opinion, wishes I, 
for karma is dead, and Ah, look, there’s the man-made tornado!
If only Midas were here, I’d stand golden forever,
but will You stand by me as the elements melt?

Wanted: Queen of Stars. 
Will sell own soul just to glimpse the moment
before the world blackens.

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