Fencer's Foil and the Mystery of the Galactic Eyes

the memories were all there
but he could not pry
out anything but galaxies
blooming from the center of his
chest
popping pollen
pulling and unraveling
a fountain of stars
erupting over the moors
of some english town
hovering with
a deep, foggy mist
dripping into and over
the pupils of her eyes
as they are pierced like
fencers pushing their foils
with toils of another rhythm
growing over each word
he put hastly
to the page
to engage you gotta know how to
wage a consistent type of war
where the chips stand
for more than good and evil
the kind of fright he'd have
if they simply built over the house
he lived in as a kid

whose eyelids
are now fluttering again
soaring through his retinas
leaping from man to woman
woman to man
making her soul sizzle like
burning paper
the burning visage
of the world's most fearsome
enemy
the pale white ghost
a host of other problems
coalesced and eclipsing
a moon
the very one you see up there in
the sky

because the hour is not nigh
it is distant
in the futures hanging like
vines from trees
in Atlanta's Southern grace
whose face is painted white
with black lipstick licking
like lizards as they burst
from each arm
of the damsel in distress
whose tresses are flowing
over her shoulders

as she lets him take
advantage of that moment in time

yet again

it is frightening
as their TV fizzeles in and out
in the dimly lit living room
where Kona whines, wagging its tail
lulling them both to sleep
as they lie back
in the cofines of their coffins, their
hourglasses

which are not only fading but half full
moving in reverse, across the room
back into their hands