Nightmare III

“You can’t live life like you’ll live forever,”
Was all I thought when I thought about you.
Words braised my throat like tickles from feather,
Calling spittle; that ever-frothy stew.
And so, I roused body and soul from sleep,
That benumbed mind may join the trinity.
I forked maimed desires into a heap,
To bathe them in a fiery litany.
With chainmail strewn across my hardened chest,
Braving demons, that your love I may wrest.

And on I strode, that I may win your heart,
With the night star serving as my compass.
Desert sands and forest rains, did outsmart
Those heavy chains—with such unwary sass.
What say hath the pond on the lily’s wants?
What protest hath the thumb against the thorn?
These questions embodied this prosaic jaunt,
That carried on from night till early morn.
Oh darling, will you save my wilting rose?
Or will you guillotine it with your toes.

I once saw my mother draw at a goat’s
entrails, in a tug o’ war parody.
The stench left behind by a corpse is its
last protest against death’s sly tyranny.
A man finds philosophy when love fails;
for they are indeed, siblings of a kind.
Philosophy says to love wisdom’s rails,
Whether straight or winding, crude or refined.
Love’s philosophy is desire or be
Desired. With probity being the lone key.

And when your deplorable lover said,
“Deliver to me thirty silver coins,”
In exchange for your body and your head,
I wanted to lodge my knife in his loins.
How could such a thought take hold in one’s mind?
To readily trade the warmth of beauty,
For silver’s frigid kiss. Hath womankind
No worth to men that exceeds the ruby?
And that there was the gambit offered me,
But with such foul terms, I could not agree.

 

 

 

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