The Four Flames (after the murder of Miss Memphis 1965, the spree must end)
the four flames (after the murder of Miss Memphis 1965, the spree must end)
the light hung shadows in a special kind of white
forcing beams to bend as the moon windowed in.
waxing just this side of one hundred percent,
figures press to the wall bringing the garden inside.
ethereal shivers spread unshackled sprites
that pivot in the wind to rise like fire on flint.
sky ends where dusk began, filling the lunarium
to the brim, its excess spilling over at maximum.
I fell into a brown study with perception on and off again,
floating void off course hung with the ghosts,
lost little memories return to boast.
night shoes squeak faintly an American horror theme.
cue Lady Justine to her desk drawer sulfur ignites four flames.
from the blue a command, the lacquered music box unwinds.
lips fall tired, high pitched, frozen lucid in a confessing dream.
flicker dinner scenes, one of murdered lady Liz Barker on old Palmer,
the walls talked through a throats scream blessed for dinner,
crossed candles on stained shoulders, a toast to St. Blaise
rimmed in gold…aspic knife on a forboding tablescape.
kept in a state of alert, awake all night of the four flames,
eight tiny hands clasp the famously signed placard,
Laura lee still plays on repeat scratching what would become ‘Love Me Tender’.
stolen songs pass over to the other side as Elvis on a final bender.
three snowdrop cases have gone cold but tonight they roam on Classic Circle.
send an rsvp for sweet Lady Gates making preparation in her french courtyard,
a sultry summer garden party. Chimes toll for what time must finally render.
tonight the hunger moon burns brighter than the light of the four flames.
it bounced across the star canvas. then came a coach sprinkling oil…
it caged the blue canary, delivering him on a constant loop of surrender.
evil pageantry finally extinguished by this command performance,
the odor of four foul murders and a double dictates Lady Jean’s secret:
after Miss Memphis 1965, the spree must end. under the guise of the blue,
it leaves unsolved encores that dissolve but do not absolve behind the line.
the serial demise replayed for this fairly possessed transgender.
gravity pulls on the dark matter moving through my body,
matter detector seeds his cancerous DNA in the omniscient universe.
alive in dark winds unforgiving of our recollection and misplaced confidence,
burning ghostly plasma settles excised with the dead cop’s confessions.
the light hung shadows in a special kind of light
forcing beams to bend as the moon windowed in.
point the way to four unsolved murders; reverence,
crumbling facades, dinner dreams, old evidence…
