::NARDWUAR::

hmmmm...

CAFE

I want to tell the story
of a girl who does not feel herself
separately
from the world of faceless
beauties who
hide behind a flimsy scrim of fitting in,
mixing with the gaping crowds
of partial poverty.
And everyone is playing games
horrified
at being the same
as the ones who tried to muzzle
all their tainted treasures
pulled taught against their brighter souls
too rugged for reasurance.
Black clothes
to mask bold and sparkling
Sunday features
and no one knows that I am here,
save my fellow frauds
but in this muggy gloom
I gulp and swallow
the suculent sorcery
of sad, sordid solliloquays.

Fancy that:
a forgotten fortune
of fast-approaching falsehoods.
Frailty
found in the woodwork
and flies on the walls.
All hail
the all-consuming mist
of misgivings,
Sunday's grievings,
basking in baser breezes,
as soft as candle light,
and row upon row
of syrupy
seductions.

I'm not diggin this scene.
It's too quiet and serene.