Superunleaded

I'm going to fill myself up

Superheaded

Pint-sized

I feel enveloped
Tart and wretched
Such greatness came
So unexpected

The Agency

I am turned
Oh so easily
By the flutes and the petit-fours
And the grandiose staircase swirling
Here, to the higher ground.
Exquisite, the genteel flow into us
Diaspora, Diplomat, Distingue
Basking in soft-focus as the petticoats rotate like a carousell.

I am turned
Oh so easily
That I barely notice her take to the stage
Floating ethereal, so delicate she is almost transparent,
"The Agency is delighted to welcome..."
And her voice melds into the fray
No matter,
I shall find a new, nubile siren to carry me away.

But I turned
Oh so quickly
As the smack of a shot slapped the wall.
Stock-still she stood,
Propped rigid against the baby grand.
Her mouth just parted, when she saw the blood
But what a pretty picture she made when lit from above:
Fingers splayed across her breast,
A milky gown turned ruby-red
And rosebud lips gave way to great crimson tides.

Dry

Cloaking dust, you
land like
sweet silk shrouds
upon my
aching shoulders

Light as death
carry me
star-bound
on high
and release

Atlas

A flagrant rebuttal from the world of men
Atlas stands

A Titan fallen
One hand to the dust that bore him,
One to the castrated sky that wounded withdrew

Atlas buckled, onwards stands

impeding the primordial embrace

A confusion
Has many faces.

And places,
s'got loads of those too.

Isn't there a trickle of integrity
of perseverance, of just getting on?

When waiting for a fog to lift
one falls upon forgotten tasks with much enthusiasm
and leaves with just as much, shortly after.