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Nightmare in Abstract

She stood in thrall to the Magyar As, one hand cupped to a breast, The other picked careful notes From the guitar against his chest, So they made a living figure Sensuous and statuesque Yet in in its way Both comic and grotesque. His foot tapped the rhythm As he sang words of passion, The stroking of his fingers Near driving her to distraction. An elegant Corps de Ballet pirouetted, Here and there across the stage And the blind percussionist thrashed A kettle drum in state of frenzied rage. The watcher watched from his dream As the spotlight lowered to dim Then swung slowly around to Focus its harsh beam on him. It was almost all too much For any mortal man to take So, screaming with despair, He was rudely thrust awake. Both woman and Magyar seared To the very depths of his brain His heart beating wildly to Near bursting from the strain. Images slowly fading Until no longer there He slipped back to sleep free From any trace of his nightmare. The puppet master eased the strings, Let his marionettes hang limp and slack Before packing them away In their carrier on his back. It was all a strange happening In the name and cause of Art Into which each participant Unconsciously took his part. The stage disappeared The theatre was gone The World of Abstract Dreams Slowly shivered and moved on. To allow no repeat Of this macabre joke The mirror resonated wildly Until, shattering, it broke.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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Date: 9/14/2022 8:38:00 AM
This is excellent, Terry. Macabre indeed and fascinating to read. While I'm being silly, you're writing some really solid stuff
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