I move my fingers
In broad circles
–both forward and back
Along hairlines
And bruises
Athwart the fine lines
Of
A scattered soul
I smooth out the bud vase
Of a heart
The cold hands of death
The jelly filled box of a banshee
That lies; lifeless in a forged, violet room
Under spotlights
And flowers
Museum goods
Tear splashed faces
Uneasy embraces
A fur lined hood wrapped ‘round the face of melancholia
It sinks deep
And scurries when the switch flips on
Peel off the top
Listen to the bubbles rise
As I flatten like the shiny rock of a headstone
I give you nothing
But the swell of a pattern
The smile of fresh dew on your nose
A laugh or two
As
My fingers will tire
I will see the green glow of an exit sign
And I will
Disappear
Like a dream dying under the clean light
Of a meddlesome dawn