Aloof Scoff

I've prayed about the new world temples.
Once I saw a face illuminated in dimples
Eroding in place
As the heart I misplaced
In a world a while off,
Leaving aloft an aloof scoff.
Forwarding no praise
Of the ways I've lived in such a daze
Clutching the haze of an old world dream
Where I would dearly dance,
Then lose my gleam
Zig zag the flag
Until
The window sill
Would shred simple
Straight sewn seems
Into the gristly glances
Gagging steam
Floating from prances
Of princesses
Pondering queens.
Stick dolls,
Paper dresses
Lashes mauled
To match the tresses.
Silken hair swept over
To align to one side,
Only to hide
The substantiation
Since-passed
The reel and cast,
Renovation rights
To re-hash
Rapunzel's tower.

She plainly painted
Into her books
A majestic man,
There he would
And did stand,
No mirror
No flowers in hand
And for the hour
He awaited
His belated bride,
His blooming mistress,
Distressed
Naive
Sailing astray
Wailing away
At the wheel
Where she would weave
Whatever she felt,
Often fixed frozen
At kneel
A polished pee pod
Halted hastening heels
Awaiting forever
For the agony
Of the diagonal line
Intertwined
Hook and sinker
Digging at the shoulders
Of a savvy thinker
Budging the boulder
Barricading the cave
Enclosing the rotten
Heirloom tomato tomb.

Snot trailing
Sopping are her silver sleeves.
She believes not the site she sees.
The story stumbles
And the plot
Is a pot
Of visceral leaves.
Splintered is the wheel
On which the witch grieves.
Salt soaks each page,
Ruled
Measured as the man
Or brother betrayed.
The subconscious cave
Converts to a barred cage.
Frankincense sprinkled
At the foot of the thieves on stage.
Their rage
Wet
Riveting
Writhing
Coiling.
Just as the jealously
Of jury in the ballroom
Toiling in awe of the stir.
It glides aside
The falling Myrrh
Which abides to the suited affair
With which the groom entombed
The spurs of his boots
Then sipped brutes
With boisterous bears
To raise their cubs
By the heat of the fire
And watch their necks
Grow higher and higher.

Thick fur collars
Catching the fairest of foxes.
Pale as paste,
Pretty lace to en-trace
The boredom of boxes.
Stares shared
Behind what sits amidst
Tampered lids,
The bare bind
I designed
To clothe
The loathe
Of a melting pie.
To float my feather forever high.
To wish of my feather
In any weather
To fly away forgotten.
Rotten is the fruit
Partake.
I could say I may
Have made a mistake.
Dinner plate
Empty slate
Now Dead lies the loot
In the lane
A little too late.

But a primal prince's goodbye bow
As the ballroom bereaves
Silent in vow.
Is it only a portrait of offensive matter?
Winding with the trail of tall tales?
Where scattered was the grain
To mark where the man would wait.
The simple spark
Brought-forth by bitten bait.
The catch had stingers like a storm.
They bled my body
As the flies swarmed.
Left aloof
A brain boiling
A phonetic fanatic.
A drenched system
Of desolate decimals
And dots to indicate indication.
Sorrow borrowing elasticity
To sit at side elation.

This stowaway was starving
Gorged with static.
Stoked I made it through the scares
With strength enough to take the stairs.
Evoked I had taken trot with dare,
Choked I was with mistaken air.
Soaked,
I brought it back from the bears
To be centered in a dusty attic.
The Witches broom burnt it's brethren
As well as brethren friends'.
It was time to kneed bread again
And all but kids and dogs had sinned
And they all hid in the chicken's pins.
The wheel was taken to turn a tune
For justice
Just to say
I just had to have it.
I don't know.
I just up and grabbed' it.
To help explain when I awake
Sleep caked
Head aside the lowest drawer
Staring into the grace
Of my mental space
Spilled on the floor
Where I wrote a sonnet
To keep the ravens at shore.
I hummed in secret for the crows
Told them of the flashy clothes.
Coinciding raspy calls
Scratched
Clawed
Stingy
Small
We really had ourselves a ball.