STORYTELLER

STORYTELLER

It keeps altering,
Clamping, exploding, it dies then unfolds slowly on pristine pages.
Its yellow oldness daring me to move closer,
To crave the vile smell that its contours flaunt,
To be eaten away with derisive joy.

We twist and dance on the walls of a lie,
Our shadows swaying in shy grace,
To the rhythm of a pacing pulse,
The breath of an exhausted mind drumming in our drunken heads
I watch hypnotized,
Crimson dots love in the white sky above,
Mouths with lipsticked words wake and then withdraw,
His eyes fly away with affection cold
Kisses on their bruised silk hearts,
A sealed pact of death on the wearing rags,
My virgin limbs he strings; surreal ease in surrender his enormous eyes promise,
My dark cotton heart, his wordless unfolding tears open to a million little scars,
I hum; bemuse bonding me in a filthy kiss.

Then I watched them fall on the sunset greens,
They rose and danced again,
Wild, daunting secrets they hid, now gushing through their lined eyes,
A distorted smile on their red angry mouths,
They cavort in drugged ease,
Wanton whispers now woken up from their restless dreams,
The forgotten nomads with worthless lives,
The bastards adopted by orphan hands.


They do that for money he said. Like prostitutes I asked. No, worst he said. We both nod on either side of the phone uncomfortable with the way the conversation is going.

I am so lonely now; change is killing me, and so is hope.