lazarus
Blue Crack Supplier
wish I had more to show for after another long sabbatical, but it's better than nothing...as always, be warned that dubious wordplay lies ahead:
R.S.V.P.
a nightingale’s night in jail—
I know why the caged bird swings
from a loose noose of his own device
not too tight to try it twice,
useless wings folded behind;
belly-up the drowned staircase
vouchsaved by the belle
her unpicked locks and trestles
lashes batting a thousand debutante balls
a smirk on every jerk who calls
or begs the hand
of the last lass left behind
Bellaruster at dawn--
the early bored catches the
stray crumb in dumb waiter
the water’s too cold;
table of malcontents
first course for second place settings
heavy filetting
gasps in the grass
and lapses in laughs
the formal festive spread
with no head—
little orphan am I
saint sebasti
an’ all arrows are drawn to the nexus
just below the solar plexus
fig leaves much to the imagination
sacre desiree--
the served dessert today
she’ll raise the lid
on the fatter platter
choked on the atmosphere,
gothic to her stomach
horse and carriage return
down to the next line
‘neath the billet-doux drawn blinds
and a kiss-intel inkwell
there’s superstition at the station
and a one way fare refrain
the glove waves in a shroud of grey
where the steam leaves a permanent stain.
laz
R.S.V.P.
a nightingale’s night in jail—
I know why the caged bird swings
from a loose noose of his own device
not too tight to try it twice,
useless wings folded behind;
belly-up the drowned staircase
vouchsaved by the belle
her unpicked locks and trestles
lashes batting a thousand debutante balls
a smirk on every jerk who calls
or begs the hand
of the last lass left behind
Bellaruster at dawn--
the early bored catches the
stray crumb in dumb waiter
the water’s too cold;
table of malcontents
first course for second place settings
heavy filetting
gasps in the grass
and lapses in laughs
the formal festive spread
with no head—
little orphan am I
saint sebasti
an’ all arrows are drawn to the nexus
just below the solar plexus
fig leaves much to the imagination
sacre desiree--
the served dessert today
she’ll raise the lid
on the fatter platter
choked on the atmosphere,
gothic to her stomach
horse and carriage return
down to the next line
‘neath the billet-doux drawn blinds
and a kiss-intel inkwell
there’s superstition at the station
and a one way fare refrain
the glove waves in a shroud of grey
where the steam leaves a permanent stain.
laz
