Poetry

Waxy Superman

Dancing on the decking fingertips in the air,

Softly landing feet, move now as a velvet pair.

Take another sip from the cup and twist a face,

The angels and the devil drift around in this place,

The angels sing so sweetly, fortitude and bliss,

They wipe away memories of each tender kiss,

Fortunately recorded every whisper once heard,

Still can hear the talking, though they cry at each word.

If this waxy superman is melting in the sun,

We are become him and for that we are undone,

The fascist archetypals drag all honour away,

Luscious and careening toward the bright and humble dawn of another glorious day,

No longer with a word to say,

When drifting through the universe we spy a vessel hence,

Driven beyond reason to catch a glimpse of a common sense

Drudgery and viciousness are all that they had planned.

Christ the redeemer, wine on command.

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