Fanfare for Flames

"(Spawn" By David Saltaire)

Times being what they are

 I look out the window

at dirty streets and passing cars

and it seems all the bright sunlight

is a lie.

That there are so many lies

so many foolish hands covering

worried eyes, open mouths

and so much terror that it bores

like endless shocks eventually

bring numbness, as your hair falls out

and is sucked down the hospital drain.

And here I am

typing away in the bluish glow

of a testtube cigarette TV screen

unable, it seems,

to do anything but record the night

in the despairing brightness

of the silent, heated day.

Thunder cracks the shell of silence

Clouds roll in like Armadas of doom

but only cubic zirconia particles

drop from the pewter skies today

nothing wet or nourishing

just the insult of eternal expectations

a soap opera with black and white parts

for everyone except

you and me

and no plot in sight

no wonder Amelia Earhart lost herself

in the bitter winds over desert lands.

So maybe it’s not a good idea

to click and point at the frozen answers

not moving anyway, nor will they

and I’m not going to cash in on

dreams, American or otherwise.

Some people claim to find

God in their hand-held device,

Some people hear demons in

the fillings of their teeth.

I heard the Doors the other night

like licorice whips melting

into carnival tea

but all I could think was

Jim Morrison, you swaggering ass

you were miles before the end.

You and I know what the end looks like

Don’t we?