Illusion's Portrait

Two muffling feet
shuffle on grey concrete...

inside out,
careful steps beside the crumbling face,
echoing space filled
with green-diffuse light
and ancient mental fragments
dusty in drab condition,
adorned in moldy life remains
yet bright with
squirrely twitching tails of morning wonder.

Possessions grow - encircling the concrete hole!

Through sliding doors that split between the scapes
hoarse, sharp and noisome the barking of dogs
black, brown and white
they freak and race inside the grooves
to glimpse their foes through wood slat curtain cracks
displaying there - those happy grinning fangs
of old and new turf wars.
once more the chase begins,
their daily war games passionate embrace.

abruptly jerking and screeching yin yang to a halt
beckoning forth their gamey fangs
without guile revealing the day's cacophony
and animal ennui,
pure anabolic, recombinant history,
Simple and discounted
but no tickets sold.

Belongings shudder and blow - encircling the concrete hole!

The die is cast anew, so be forewarned,
de facto crypt inside could slip,
Old chaos neatly tucked away; grasp again one piece denied.
Thus ends a manic, knotted plenum trip.
And when illusion's portrait of the king is painted through
the vampire Love-Heart vision pierced to rest at last.

To ground to nothingness the being
but spared the onerous task alone
new royalty assumes its throne
the next illusion grows its flesh and bone.