Lone
Figure Wandering
so this
breezy
character
a
lone figure wandering
is
indeed condescending
trampled
over my T-Rex
records
& my brittle bones
w/
demands to be indulged
&
adored in a tenor that
verges
on preachy
imagine
harrowing
chic flashing
a
half smile in oppressive
light
prowling backstage
through
a cluttered green
room
in pursuit of a tawdry
interlude
if I were
to
paint it the scene would
be
a collection of agitated
brushstrokes
or big blots of
ominous
tints to aptly depict
antagonistic intent
simmering
tensions rise &
my
gaze becomes unmoving
&
hard
watching
wrong-headed
sharp
cheeks &
teased
out tresses blow brass
horns
& pluck delicate harps
believing
it will elicit a steady
magic
but I’ve already heard
the plum notes
played
by someone
mesmeric
one jet black night
not
so long ago
it is impossible
to
strive for constant
perfection &
not be muzzled by
indifference
if I were
to
sit down & write about this in
detail
I’d squeeze out a parable
that’d
require your full attention
&
alongside
my countless estimations
I
wouldn’t
shy away from saying
those
tassels were too distracting
for
an equivocal vagrant to be
twirling
in everyone’s face but
never
mention my own stockings
&
pointed shoes
***
Moral?
Here’s a hint, it’s got a little
something to do with judgement.
Take from it what you will, artistic
heart.
In propinquity,
Nic
