Dec 08, 2010 04:12
12/08/2010
Dig It.
Solitaire Heart sits 40’s style in a basement for the antiquated.
Dirty secrets scattered along this fine, rippled edge
Where rugs of no consequence lay bare
Tipping a lonely fedora near where Sunlight used to tint windows sparingly
Once upon a decade.
Sun went down for the count though,
And now days are spent in shadowy confinement
where there ain’t no Angel sounds
no ring bearers
and certainly no amends left to be made.
Lifted upward is a Sapphic curtain,
Still glitters from the heyday of sad Solitaire Heart
Dust has settled on fedora’s faded brim
Memory of footprints imprinted
into the last of the bottom heart boxers
Cobwebbed love & aching loss
Coat the room’s walls;
borderless & toxic,
they are the colors of a scream.
There will be a door opening
And there will be a Clarion Call
(of some sort)
Shaking black shoes out of blank complacency
To rise on up to a hotter, sweatier beat
With a tap and a trumpet
Bound for the glory of a new stain on screamed walls
Stained red like the ink of Sir Solitaire’s veins,
mixing content.
Swirling castrato ups the din!
But the room stays relaxed.
Open doors have yet to creak
and time ain’t jumped the gun.
Those 40’s will have to stead their heels,
Until Sunshine at last is ready to start
his Reverb Revolution.
---S.K.L. (c) 2010