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I’m wearing purple,
who is brave enough
to dance with me?
I’ve not found them in my years
of shaking
with increasing urgency –
this is boiling point my love.

I don’t know.
Maybe you just have to
have the right mind;
but I’ve had the right mind
all the time,
just sometimes
I find
it don’t work right.

There are pigeons on the roof,
satellites on the wall,
and the hum of a freezer
supplying the white noise –
half-silent –
there is no deal to be made big of any more.
Fig leaves like open palms
bristle in the wind;
this world has become unreal.

I can’t turn it off.
It’s everywhere in flashing lights
while they rob you
of your ashes;
night service in your room
from the special forces;
Godly men with deadly things
come riding four white horses.

Euphoria once,
now I am sin:
red sky, red sea, red wind.
Fly-by shootings
between falling angels;
misfiring cupids sparking
hate between butchers;
in making love with kings
I have born a circus,
a carnival of fire.

The pigeons dip their wings.

an intake of breath,
a ride
on this wave made
only for the drowning –
so pick a war or dance with me.
Life is but a chain
my love,
you’ve gotta shake it
to get free.


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3 thoughts on “Fantasia

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