skipping the verse with my instincts going straight to the chorus, because it pleases you best...

painting ‘Venus at Her Mirror’ by Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez

the set up was mostly an accidental letting down of your hair

on the corner

all the martyrs

and the preachers

that listened

are now pushcart

tube-meat salesmen

salamis, mortadellas

and blood puddings

emotionally wound and

stuffed in intestines

they are sold 

bundled with a drink

to carry in a basket

of tucked goodies

some felt cloth

over silver

and some wax

for burning

into midnight

as other poems,

ideas, thoughts

and or songs

come ready to eat

I approach

the dark

folded parts

of evening

like I do

a memory of morning

with twilight turning

the gloaming 

into a skin

that clocks can

dream about

we will wait 

on through the Dawn

going over our

combed surrenders

hoping to catch

glimpses of something

in tortoise shell glow

flicker weave yellow

orange and red

EJR ©