The In-Between
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"The In-Between"
I ripped the pages of
that tired old story
from the heart, a body of work
buried the misdiagnosed slanders
then wiped their mouths
with the back of my spoon
the feed they found,
passed the disingenuous time;
some found it hot, others -
scratching the surface
paltry yard confounded,
some alarmingly amused
when true meaning rolled-over
plunging headily nude
and recklessly to cool
taken out of their high chairs,
they too walked like recalcitrant infants,
drunkenly pressing their faces into walls
with the paper cuts
missing from their hands
thoughts were their stock exchange
a symptom of the sharp discards of
their anxious waiting, watching
the sands slipping through slim hollows
of that metronome marking glass
worldly and worrisome wisdom
drop second-by-second like falling pearls
broken to the floor
in their Godiva nakedness
then strung back up again
placed around their necks
noose-like, a new halo
around the throat satin-like
injecting
vibrato
words
there, they ride
their minds astride,
pretending
to be
humble
and contrite
expensive reality
cast aside in the reflections
of their better selves
bouncing back from what sits
upon their reclining laps,
warm and comforting
crystal menageries
trustworthy, always friendly
encased in durable plastic
there, their controlled angels
and controlling monsters sit
whispering seductive tomes
peeling away at the keys of
their duplicitous yet noble glass onions,
artificial loyal reliable friends, always -
until their fuse blows
loyal like a ball and chain
in fairweather and Faustus foul
dealing cards with their worst
and better selves
stories baked and swallowed
each dream-like melting moment
"cupcakes are us", domesticated
and fast rule acquainted
sincerely recommending,
never play outside the lines
forays with the obstructing abstractors
molluscs are an acquired taste, best avoided
shucked fleshy, quivering with life
they understand jazz too implicitly, trumpeting,
down that mother-f***er fast
they take comfort in the mistakes
they're beat-ups in the short,
yet long-lived walk home
eating up the waiting time
like some sensuous
solace-laced luxury
escaping through each open gate
and playground sucking emotions
like tootsie-pops
calming the errant child
hard candy blowing tears away
swinging bare feet
with The Others,
phantoms who sit silently
stitching soliloquy, missing in action
those viciously cool ingenues
writing new recipes, feasts that hungrily
let loose their calmly explosive mind fields
a cause of leaving
the rigid body of beliefs behind
in the comfort of their cloistered rooms
cassocks tossed off
where they duplicitously agree
with the inclement climate
of their tight shifts
and uncomfortable pants
breath spinning in the great in-between
they make a new game
of love and misconceptions
their personal detour maps labyrinthine
ne’er a point in time irreverently wasted
in that churning washing machine
the missionaries’ positions are all cursory
wrapping legs of a journey
around spontaneously perfunctory
and non-rehearsed now and then mind-seductions
fresh bodies of work
flip the sheets necessary to
massage notes of love, regret and wry genius
left tames right
along the way,
bittersweet and torturous
wanton and spot on
better days are spent surely
in the lasting, lusting poetic
Les Liaisons
dangereuses affair
bee-stung words passionately sting
honey is always meaningful
in the gloaming time
gallantly holding space
en tendre
le chanson
du luminer
en chantant
amen
In-Between
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Nostalgia 77 - Fifteen (Best of) [Full Album]
https://youtu.be/FH66y4S65Lk
"What fresh hell is this?"
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2022
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