got to, have, has to be

exquisite: catch that sickly

smile. trying to disguise a wrapped rose

to thorns, only thorns

but the gait of his walk, the eyes so very

hungry for more, what rose is it?

plant a seed, dig it deep

so the mind does not casually

pry out young stems coming alive

in a warm thick heart

eager to test the flesh. can almost taste

the gait, like walking on air, sickly smile inverted

a heart rejoices to beauty

only for one. rips apart those thorns,

displays for all to see, don’t come here,

it’s futile, meaningless, go on, on towards

your daily walk. and serious contemplation

sets upon some, others quietly joke

that splinters, pins, needles don’t make

much for a cheery day: ah how they cover

their faults, their sorrow with neutrality,

the smoke is thick, like a heart unable to pump

well, gone to big – woops, dear god no way,

branches, dead oaks burning crudely in

beautiful summer longing for a touch

of cold, what sweltering heat, the pores open up,

breathing in smoke, dust, dirt

while busy folks mind their own business,

and halt

with wafts of rosy scent getting picked up by the wind,

what’s missing? clearly something

they ached for, something missed, unable to figure out

the piece for fulfillment; tugs along at mother’s skirt,

where to now? the child asked. but mother was

busy baking pancakes, not now deary, try reading a book,

so the child read the story of red riding hood,

imagined mother turning to a wolf – gotcha, began to

cry and pummel his fist on the door,

beauty masquerades as nightmares,

as pancakes. unmake her, the apparition

dissolves and pancakes turn to honey cakes

with a douse of maple syrup; sweet, sweet

a child’s bubbly laughter hits home run,

with serious contemplative watchers sighing,

a spell broke, mayhem disrupted

where conspiracy theories dissipate to nothing,

air, air – just air and imagination,

while busy folks stopped to breathe in

air laced with hope, love, greed,

tiny quantities of arsenic is the missing piece,

women cried unabashed for paler tone,

it’s working!

get confusing sometimes, you know,

what the body feels, what the organs are slowly

turning into; they don’t yell, don’t alert,

the hackers have gone past blue team,

defenses down, the trojan horse gallops

happily in the courtyard, with fine princes and princesses

clapping delightfully; how charming, how ingenious

as the horse now stood on two legs and brayed

like a donkey; spits out a dozen roses

to bewildered onlookers, wowing them

till the tiny dust sparkled on roses, went into

lungs deflating.

now the courtyard became empty,

a child’s cry echoes hauntingly

inside the walls, the contemplative spectators

tried to make a go at it, to flee from poison

fumes they began to acknowledge, admit, senses

hitting home run as one sickly smile turned

hideous: mine, mine,

tore off a mask, bared his teeth,

the smokes became more dense,

it’s all in the past now –

old weary bodies no longer able to fight,

to grab at, to hold fast on to hope

burying inside flesh, unable to sprout,

the greedy vain

smolders life; the heart begins to fail,

flailing about, hands limp,

wrinkled bundled bodies contorting,

i smelt a rose,

i saw something like beauty,

i heard a call like the awakening of something more,

and it was all laced up,

behind a sickly smile, a quick exit,

before the sink holes began to appear

and fire from the depth roared in jubilance – finally.

smoke, smoke

in the air – a stomach eager to devour

all those beauty in one eternal lake.