Sepia Stripes and Gemstone Blues

Sepia stripes, wanded words;
Figures, factorials, halves and thirds;
Broken knees now stretch and bow:
Anthropomorph me. Now,
It’s motive, reason, stimulus,
Mighty will! Cirrocumulus,
Mackerel sky and silver-shoals:
Scales and feathers, cotton souls.
A lacquered fanfare plays in gold,
Audacious, regal, brazen-bold;
Strong and malleable tenor
Horns; music-baking Senner’s
Rolls. Blazing torchlight
Flickers, amber-landing porch-light
Guides inside to fond imagination:
A filament-wisp; and conversation
Banters round and round and rests.
Squiggles on a stave, stroke, test
And competition. Conjuror,
Conjure my hallucinations surer
As real, not analgesic
And fantastical. Manic
Baby mountains, deliriously
Brilliant. Imperfections, mysteriously,
Never addled alchemical magic.
Strike again, ye tragic-
Ruptured wraith, ye silken cloth,
Ye full of foresworn claw-worn wrath!
Break again the shards anew!
Lower your mask, don’t tell me who
A-miss-éd me. Gunman, shoot
Me dead: my love, your loot.
Folklore-mechanics, nimble jig
On the pavement, cider swig,
Months believing in the dutiful,
Then lies and lies; who’s beautiful?
Tethered to anonymity, eating
Blades of pensive green. Never-meeting,
I cured and cleared and cleansed those arteries
That you congested before. No part of me
Regrets, though time’s tears do catch
Me, asunder, cumber me; never attached
I am, still. Where footsteps tread on,
Un-will-full devotion is gone.
Trembling my final liberty, yet elated
Without the satin-dreams. Ill-fated
Are confounded memories,
And unconventional tendencies.
No wishes to recall
Any pastoral-pliable bistre shawl,
Now laid, moth-raped, as a cleaved canvas,
And vague, elevated giant; silvas
In our dew-sudded eddies. You, reader;
We warm in the dedicated-to-a-leader.
Feet pounding on rocky floor,
Cavern-gliding lost for evermore.
Whence lost? Whence gone?
Whyfor was the truth perched upon
The pinnacle: a place of rainy fields
Ploughed over in concrete shields;
A life forgotten, too short-lived
For fixed affection. Yet how-so outlived
Was that great, disquieting, vast
Devotion? When was the last
Moment that I remembered
Our sepia stripes? When last tendered
I the vision of stargazing, physics,
In ceaseless whirligigs? Whimsical,
Was it, all? Solitude is left alone;
With turquoise-amorphous gemstone
Blues, I’m combing out my tangled hair.
I don’t think you were really there.

The End

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