There’s Nothing Here to See

An open laced dinner    
With ghosted settees    
And cigarettes of insignia    
Lifting images of drudgery    
With reconciliation of instances  
In plain and pretty abandonment  
      
  
Annihilating pains of ecstasy  
Juxtapositions of screams,    
Books of Saturn accompanying    
Static pictures of a Roche limit;  
Loving laughter of insanity

The blinding comfort of chains    
That offset rust colored haze    
And white syringed rain to see    
How many scars are  there
  
Fluid dynamics and twig banks    
Persecution of redundant idols and absentees,  
Turbulence as a wind vortex thickens    
Changing the lacquered nail polish to incense
  
Placing them in memory – all were silenced    
Subcutaneous butterflies;    
A pale fire of faded glory    
Planting stars for pennies,
    
There’s nothing here to see