The Last Mystery

Who will be the next
to line up
on the wire
to straddle the fence
and mimic the great comics?

All the mummers
dance and wave,
perhaps taking dictation
and passing critical judgment
on the need
for closer inspection
and then, the moment
of despair,
the sweepers come
and wield the night
and plaster dust
is filtered finely
into bins
and charged
with circumlocuitous light.

And you.  
Finely done!  
Ah! And a daisy!  
An abab…..repeated!  

Splatter walked corpses
rally up
and stand
in double lines
and flag the dancers,
each one
a spindle
in a carrot top,
the uniqueness
of a Chinese band
gone to Tibet
for a weekend
and stayed
for half a century.  

Myths of turmoils
and deceptions.  

The whole craggy abyss
and signing
of a troubadour
and his mistress,
the vagina.

runningturtle87