Santorini

I dreamt of a place a long time ago
Fire and smoke filled the night sky
As shrieks echoed over the hills and the water
Families huddle and run away from the burning huts beside burning houses
Along the edges of the mountainside, priestesses chant and sway
Breasts and bodies laid bare, but faces hidden by demonic wooden masks
Torches cluthed in both hands as they cackle at the destruction
And all at once they turn to me,
Eyes burning with rage
I take a running leap off the cliff
Down to the next plateau
Into the center of a small pool
Lit from below with an unearthly blue glow
I stop to catch my breath
I turn my head back up the mountain side
And see a dozen women
Wooden masks turned animated
Jaws snapping
Baring fangs dripping with green venom
Falling in slow motion towards me
As they ready to tear me to shreds

Toothpaste Marbles

Your features are so rigid and firm.
Like they were cut from the hardest of stone,
And slathered with the matted fur of wild beasts.
But your eyes, they're sunken in your face.
An inch too deep, and too small around.
Like the tiny eyes of a hyena, peering through a sculpted mask, playing at being human.

An hour late

Your eyes dart between the two talking
Just a few seconds behind in the conversation
The light of understanding goes dark behind your eyes as the words whiz back and forth
It's almost like watching a tennis match, set to fast forward, and missing several frames in between and at random.
Finally the match is over, and they back down, and slink away.
But still your eyes move across the scene.
Unfocused, and attempting to replay the events one more time.
Perhaps this time attaching meaning to words, forming ideas.
And finally, recognition.
But it is morning now.

Duchess

It struck me as odd
The sharp curves on your calf muscle as you stretched, one leg over the other
Skin pock marked with little scars and imperfections, but in colour only not smoothness.
The landmarks of injuries of yesteryear.
But a strength ripples underneath, barely contained by such a thin layer of flesh.

Your fingers stretch, unwavering, reaching, grasping for the cool metal bar.
The veins on your forearm pulse rhythmically, almost in time with the music you are surely bobbing your head to.

And your face, oval yet sharp.
Lips that curve into a fragile smile,
cupped by cheekbones gently trying to hold it all together.
Eyes, downturned, as if forever on the cusp of bursting into tears,
Tears of a sadness that has spent a lifetime being dammed behind your lids,
filling the bags under your eyes.

Fred

I am at the centre of my own stage
My fans cheer for me, adoringly
They roil with laughter at my wit
Gasp as I set loose my falsetto
Cry as my gentle siren lowers to just a whisper

All but one.
There he is, staring at me.
Peering into me, piercing through the glitter of lights and flashes
He watches, not with shame, or contempt, or disgust.
He just watches, in pure curiosity.

------------------------------

Fred, I don't know how you do it.
I don't know how you go out there night after night.
I don't know how you put up with the cackles and jeers.
I wish I was blind like you.

Deeper than deep point

I can't stand those looks
The pause you awkwardly place in sentences
The emphasis on words that need no emphasis
The gazes off into the thousand yards you've never seen into

You expect me to understand something about your cryptic phrases
Your non messages
To be enraged as you are enraged,
Saddened as you are saddened
That we might both hum philosophically at all this bullshit