Cloak and Dagger

The Masked Archer – Romaine Brooks

Illusional words slice through time and space

As a sharpened arrow might

Pointed dagger at the ready to penetrate

or, hoping to get lost along the journey?

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With intent or target concealed in prose

Suspicion incites assumptions

Doth the protagonist plan foul play

or, is thee a hero of fables?

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Allegorical motives pursue to embolden heart

Uncertain, as there’s only one cloaked player

I say –

Speak now or forever hold your tongue

There’s no peace in your silence.

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The near and far continue to ask…

“How does one talk to strangers?”

The responses stolen by some passionate,

passive familiarities of understanding

Phantom answers to inquiries from the shadows.

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I am grateful for all of the storytellers.

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“How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spreads his claws,

And welcomes little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws!”

Insert Title IX

Silly women with our silly thoughts

Demanding silly rights from our silly sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, grandfathers…

Silly facts from our silly leaders

Backing silly fools who commend silly racists, xenophobes, fascists, homophobes, sexists…

Silly religions of the silly gods

Forcing silly practices on the silly world, country, city, home, person…

Fuck all this shit.

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A few exhaling breaths disrupt the haze as

Spreading palms fan out and trace invisible brushstokes within the air

Hanging smoke of the swirling strands trail upward and against my arm in contrast

While sunshine beaming in through the window draws shaded patterns on the wall

Their long oblong shadows lining up to slice through me – geometric smiles captured

Shining light flashes into view like falling diamonds

And in this moment I allow myself to forget – flying diamonds aren’t real

That I’m not breathing in all of the dead skin and dirt floating around me

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Sunset smothered in ash
Interrupting Intentions
But blanket lightly cradles
Folding up into the warmest cocoon
Hoping for rebirth
Or – maybe a few quiet moments.

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They would say ‘we are not the aggressors!’

As the falling tears dropped

Brazenly confused in their state of being

Blotchy red skin, better for the convincing –

Must secure opinions to take notice:

‘Selfish’

‘Sad’

‘Irresponsible’

‘Permanent’

Broken hearted actions indefinitely examined

The laid-to-waste resolutions begin to be forgotten…

Minute details buried so that we can all play the victim.

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As an action, love is fluid.

Lust demands devotion of the heart but we instead settle into beautiful praise of friendships.

‘Living’ all narratives of description while or

so as to forget the physical touch of happiness.
The Past means nothing to the Future.

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Hoards of creeps –

Fighting the trail of death;

seem friendly enough.

Men in general –

All happy smiles;

with their sharp Alligator teeth.

Good friends speak –

If only to confirm;

“All acts consensual.”

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I am grateful for friends