tableau vivant

(ombre hair cascades over purple porphyria)


 

if tonight you recognize doubt

as one of the names of intelligence.

if tonight you control tangential thought,

the fight and struggle will be worth resistance.

this love a religion of ungodly persistence,

a fallible obsession grown malicious.

sweet lusting oyster bud closing in on the bee,  

stripping cotton from its protective boll.

this room is his room, the trees his trees.

rain came early drenching damage control,

his feet up with a smile that would calcine the soul,

choice of words, what she must wear of little console.

living in his quotation, improving his silence,

sauntering in self pleased bliss, retiring in red flames lick,

wind crossed ribbons drop ombre hair in violence.

upon bare shoulders of torments’ delicate prick,

white gloved hand he took to the den of the sick,

running through thick devil’s walking stick.

another man of history glows in purple porphyria,

she enters altered autonomous state of consciousness,

riding his paranoia, milking bloodlusting tachycardia.

a summary, a commentary of medicinal righteousness,

just as the duke thinks he owns his wife, he is spineless.

both a gothic agreement frozen, painted timeless!

smokey blue room full of dragons and beasts of prey,

grown pale of love, grown cold in vain.

lovers vex, irk, and pique, begging on silver tray.

true blue eyes blinded by black gloves of stain.

dimmed senses sway in time across a stage of pain,

four left feet twisted attention upon the wedding train.

shadows struggle, pheasants under a glass of graceful

among tableau vivant dowry of nude madness and confusion.

together they had planted that japanese maple,

flooding in fall colors and storms infusion,

bloodied washed out toppled transfusion

by her own omber hair held in bruises.

murmuring and clanging, giving up in alogia.

never giving in to the worship of you,

or your attempt to change the topic in a flight of ideas,

at your cocktail party of dream speak over cue.

no need for further debate over what to do.

the passion was hers, heart swelled and still grew.

alive as she will ever be between the frame,

the last vision glazed in a death trance,

sparkling hazels beat in a heart inhaling a night of pain.

holding premonition and doubt for one last chance,

grasping conviction in an intoxicating sword dance.

rain, war, ritual, a battle ended by the lance.

ombre hair cascades over purple porphyria,

the state of doubt no longer suspended in error.

cleansed of his war in amazonian hysteria,

thought cells of madhouse transcend terror.

your lover, your name inherited in father’s mirror,

living as shown from rage of emptiness ombre delivers.

domination overpowered in a pocket venus call,

freeze where roses grow and vines cling,

cast in bronze upon the wall.

in this garden of open fire, hands ombre hair wring,

stripping from his fetish and his ring.

dead or alive never again to lay beside a pretender king.