Recognitions blown away in starshine,
night time torment in darkness
when solitudes conflict with toils
and the blackdashed fears that scrape away are telling you
what would be if you'd only jump without a rope.

Been there.
Done that.

In the mindscape your breath clings to
the brilliance in all smiles fade away and wash out.
Greyscale dramatics in candlelit basements
seem to hold more vice than virtue
as the morning light creeps over your conscious horizon
and seeps into crevices you never knew existed.

And drop by bloody
uncountable drop
the rain comes down to wash reality back into foggy minds
smoothed over with joy
and it beads down the sides of your waxed existence
silent and signifying nothing more important
than spheres of falling water,
yet it sifts through your meandering thoughts
and becomes like a flood
and only because you've shrunken
(you're drowning in puddles again and again).

Masked Joker is busting his gut in with chuckles,
he hides in your belly and sings you sweet dissonance,
holding the lever to floodgates
he shuts them and opens them
laughing at how we all squirm
at this phantom-beast dis-card.

12/24/2003

Posted on 12/24/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia