Dream dreams of juniper and lemons, in a city of gold and lead,
And regard Miss America lying nude and supine under warm bright lamps...
On a dissecting table.
The elevator cable snapped
She's not coming back
Or is she? As she is?
Listen to the obolus rattle inside the bleached white skull
Charon didn't need it;
That ride was comped.
Eventually, the rightful owner of what you garnered wants it all returned...
Can you base a feature film on your life?
Have you died yet, and do you still live?
Will ochlocracies dismember you as they adoringly chant your name like a mantra?
Or will it be just you and a gun and a half-empty bottle,
In a squalid chamber even rats despise?
When you pass the lure of fortune, the Earth smiles like a stern mother
Beauty, evanescent like grass, just smiles a rictus smile.
When you throw off the silver collar and mount forward toward the light, walking regardant,
Reflect that you determined the burden you carried yourself.
© 2006 by Mark Andrew Holmes.