FINALITY AVE.

The acrid lure of temptation
barbs in twine about my neck,
blithe and pitiless,
darkly mortal.

Each metal cuff,
sucked deep from the recess of fertile breath
waking sacred days of pretend -
too squeezed from morbid juices
‘cross thick calloused treads.

Alas, even sacrifice seems
insatiably tantalizing
like the spinning wheel threads
of veiled spider’s web
nimbly draped upon
the chain of my bond -
thrust from this gaping world fever
into the next -
bottomless amour…

to bleed no more.



@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).

THE JESTER AWAKENS

To trip along the golden lash
of tongues,
more robust than clever,
leaves disheveled wreckage
clotting in my veins.
Eggplant bruises
across wounded flesh
of my forefathers.

These adversaries frame all reputation
in backward reflections
- time run amuck,
wrapping impure enigmas
within their frustrating decapitated majesty.
To dance on cracks
and jam or fall,
breaking bones of contention
upon my woozy brain
at three a.m.

I reel from the pungent smack
- reality deftly proclaiming,
‘Here me, oh fool!
You are undone –
T’was all for not,
and not yet begun…
but at last
thy face is wiped clean
of superiorities –
a slate in turn,
thrust upon the world
to transcribe...
Behold!
You have found yourself.’

@Nick Zegarac 2006 (all rights reserved).