Tuesday, May 09, 2006


Pressed against my pillow
I pave the loose winding road
between meandering temples,
and hallucinate faint
emerald meadows
where aristocrats casually
preen and daydream;
to the even keel

time’s seldom remiss
golden sway
of gothic yesterday,
caught briefly
in retiring postcards
jaundice daylight,
- exchanged
shimmering dimpled moonlight
refracts across a crestfallen
silver lake.

I see a spirit with long satin gloves,
pretending to be,
her arms outstretched for a suitor
joining her momentarily –
cool and refreshed as his steam bath
off the court,
secure and stolid
and so unaware that none of it can last,
‘cross broadening wooden slats
hard times ahead,
barons debate
while their ladies take up a collection
in more affable thoughts.

…and unexpectedly,
no longer is my mind denied
by too many lack of opportunities
for that forgotten, beckoning rest,
with utter chaos from oncoming headlamps
strike full my brow
catching and disoriented,
by the
sharp burst of prelude
met on impact
crumpling the darkened corners beyond
what only my eyes had seen.

@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).


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