“Power to Love”
A sleeping Beauty
Waits another century
Her hair grows and the birds comb and wash it
By Abigail Sire about a month ago in Poets
A small child with his eyes closed slowly takes apart an apple in his hand,
Languidly, choosingly, lolling it around his mouth.
An abandoned front
A cold emptiness a stark reality
Horizon is undone,
Buckled and reemerging behind
Ghosts. Colorful souls seen in the blink of an eye of a drunken stumbling home -
Names come to him even as they came n and out of visions – a red one -
They weren’t good dancers
But swayed and careened and fell in each other’s arms -
Laughing, cackling her freshly manicured nails digging into his suit -
A small booth
A cheap one – sure but they were finally alone.
Her in a cheap new dress and red lipstick
He in a cheaper suit – reeking of cologne
A pair infinitely cast – a search -
An undoing of fate where are you!
Where are you – a haunting exhaustion
Small, rocking panic attack.
She’s done this before -
Lifting herself up enough,
Switch change ball to heel,
A strange heaven with three clocks
Telling no time – a knockoff Mickey Mouse
Careens over the hiccupping,
From Architectural Immanence Dancing
Notes follow the tune –
Played, strung by the illustrious, painted fingers
D, f – on the treble
A hallway – a reckoning – a black beacon
Spirits with white, ghost cloaks swim in the black sky.
A shadowy figure consumed a white – outline -
The tree at the end of the universe
Is dying – wilting – strands of
Root bursting through another’s tear.
The eagle watches on.