Decadence

DECADENCE

This madness draws myrmidons,

Phantasmagorical faces flashing in, out

In, out, encrusted in popsicle gems.

Masks or muzzles . . . darkhearts or dreams?

Nothing’s what it seems.

Beats beyond hearts, blood rushing through

Corridors in skulls once lovely, now

Museums for the bizarre:

Bloated rosebuds,

Diamond-dust on gilt lids,
 Silken strand curtains,
Vermillion voices in velveteen ears. 
Denizens of the drastic

Glow in the decadence

Of the Venetian tile

Beneath the brilliance of

Incalculable crystals.

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