Thursday, March 6

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.

No comments:

Post a Comment