desolate madrigal

 
 
rub out the stars & shoot the moon
they are perditious intruders
in the black hole of our agony
 
shoot me up with a liquid dream
that will evict me from this cold street
lay me down in opium fields
where our names are not known
there must be a better place than here
 
take our books of blue odes
rip the pages into halves
then quarters, & again into eighths
confetti to rain on our
harlequin parade
 
strip me of my amorist sobriquet
it weighs too heavy
the hobo orchestra in the alley
with their grieving violins
will play a dirge to our
ransomed vows & silent poetry
 
hold on to the old lies
the ones that give us the illusion
that we are something more than dead
that our salvation will be the next jilted  
lover we pick up in un bar sordido
 
let’s get drunk, & forget
that love ever murdered our hearts
 
 
(Art by Eric Wallis)