Dawn brings Her break. Birth and death in every
Moment.
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further excerpts discovered from the tentatively titled "Dreams Burlesque"
now men sleep -
the wakeful ones are Felines who comb thru Sky-stained Night;
tis like to Morne, this painted azure MidNight -
paper cut-outs pasted high to look as if a nubile Cloud - dance plays
to enter slumbered Minds
(nothing is right; nothing is right)
teeth, claws, glowing eyes, flash Fire
(gutters-full);
guttural street-wise throat-strained-purrs,
their sane - in- somewhere - faces leer;
they hear the tenement dwellers' schemes
(if they could know scarred Felines' schemes,
we'd all be one
alone be gone)
all Minds be gone-
these Cats in Dreams
these Cats in Dreams
the gutters bounce blue placid Sky -
no Moon at MidNight
but
we learn:
We ride to 1969 !
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otro movimiento (for Mr. "People")
Upstairs live the immigrants
Sicilians, here since 'sixty-eight
the old man thinks he's Home again
his wife: she grieves alone at Night
she lost a son.
Where's he run to now, sweet boy?
The husband's off to see his child,
to eat that smile he needs to Live;
Disease alights his greedy eyes,
bright with wine of vineyards gone -
his baby:
where?
where's he run to now?
Mind you, Dawn breaks soon.
(mind you: Dawn breaks.)
"Why is Morning broken, Daddy?"*
"What you talkin about, eh? Mornings no broke...Look at that Sky, my son. She isa perfect, no?"
He muses while upon the back of the chartreuse bug,
(flash! upon an old Carousel);
he rides the insect's steely back;
He muses, rides to rich Sicilian fields;
his shuttered eyes, they know Where -
"Please, Midnight, stay; I'd see my boy,
My woman, too, yesterday so pretty..."
The sleepers toss;
(tenement heat scars the approaching mourn even further);
their Sleep disturbed by phantom cries
their floating angels left behind in their sweet Sicilian embrace;
boats have no real mercy, only Myth, once Her Sea closes into complete surround;
Boardwalk's exhausted Carousel emanates rot, but keeps her rhyme:
no other way to go but 'round
for faded Carousels -
once you've mounted, all is gone,
you've left behind your violet vines...
(Wine spills into these dirty new gutters;
"these people know not how to Live...")
but:
"he couldn't do it either, my boy;
his very Sleep stole away his Breath."
The Carousel enchanted his boy;
had he remained in Sicily... ?
Bright, garish caricatures move ghosts move garish bright caricatures
("Next! Passport!" his Momentary Mind photo)
His Lady weeps alone again.
she lost a son.
Where's he run to now, sweet boy?
~~~~~~~~~
Morning means the Felines and the chartreuse insect must make haste -
horses round the Carousel,
...stray thoughts for which we have no Time;
turquoise horse rounds down once more,
his eye a nightmare villain's game, his whinnies: prayers:
"... the chartreuse bug will never again climb aboard
to steal
my passengers..."
** thank you, Sir D.F.Draper, for your encouragement,
for the breath you blow through my aching Mind.
no idea why these words flow now, to thee- I worship Words.
Thou art a Muse.
I treasure the "copy-editor" endorsement on LinkdIn. :) <3 CF
Arthur Phillips
ChayaChaya