The red carpet

the true despair
is believing
the red carpet
illusion has rolled
out in front
of the world
in believing
the castes are
the haves
and haven'ts
and their dice
has fallen
in believing
wealth is all
what gold will
put in your
miserable pocket
for these momentary
brief breaths
in believing
wealth is all
the time in
the world when
the clock ticks out
just the same for
the roofing man baking
in the July sun
as it does for the
retired woman under
that very same roof
in believing the goal
is to have any of this
or to hold anyone
we meet along the way
for everything
and everyone
and everywhere belongs
to it all that both
the past and future
continually fight over
while the present
blankly stares into
the mirror

As of late

the days are met
to find glory
resting within the
cages that once
housed hearts
and those cages
buried beneath
stones ever
reaching for
eternity
yet they too
must succumb
must surrender
to the audacious
advances of
inevitability
never will that
hand be slapped
away
never to escape
that creeping
presence
that slight of
hand played
out on daily
mirrors before
careless eyes
the days are met
not to question
whom has
created the dust
but rather
whom was the
dust created from

From night

toes glide through
grass wet with dew
perspiring after the
flight of night with
the rising of dawn

something was left
in the shadow of dark
something remains
within the unspoken
faces of the stars
and the silent tongue
of the blind lunar eye

something was given
to the revelry in
nocturnal mockery
of the given reality
under warm solar rays

something was lost
to the oblivion found
in late stupors sipped
from chalices of
porcelain moon flowers

something lingers
within the very dew
caressing bare toes
that glide quietly
through the green grass
carrying their owner
out of concealed hope
and into revealed regret

Flora's whores

iridescent hues
drip in the evening sun
spilling over
soft gem laden cups
who serenade
feminine stripes
and sails of stained glass
their sweet words
those of sirens
they learned long ago
in almost every tongue
of almost every
pair of lips

iridescent hues
swirling in stirring
breath of zephyrs
once remembered
on burning pavement
underfoot
bare skin meeting
the caress of solar want
of delicate breezes lost
to the haughty wind
of silken dress
engulfing thirsty appetites
to suckle those
who stop to visit
to stay awhile
within the evening sun