Chris and Rollo

Chris and Rollo

Saturday, April 17, 2010


Installed by peerage of dubious descent
Upon a junkyard throne at rivers edge
The icy dark depths timelessly dredged
For hope in despair amongst the grimmest bent
Who come from outside bathed in light
Sequentially succumbed in the musical night
By false hope, heightened delight
And the smallest promise sidelong lent,
Step upon these rotting boards, these
Creaking timbers, drawn faced hoards
Who quietly step out of time, off epicenter,
Unholy compulsion and greasy caress,
Diamond hard that painfully flays the flesh
For so long as is required
To disallow any chance for appearances,
The emotional account in arrears, they retreat
For the first time aware of the sting
And the scarring setting in before the ring
Has left the swollen, reddened ear,
The tear-filled eye, salt-dried,
Brow beaten under tousled, matted hair,
The bleary eyes remembering in strobe effect
Within night time, city time,
Vicious soulless masquerade, faces etched
Deeply by the life, the chasing breath
Where engines race and slow,
Race and blow back the exposed face of death.

© Celeste Plowden 2010

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