I’m a caricature
A Silhouette slipping through the door
As slim as a blade
Prague shadow puppet
Black except the face
Powder white
Whispers evaporate
A recluse
Behind a weeping curtain
I really can’t be your banquet
Your glossy lover
A path to paradise
Your way out of sadness
My own fear hoarded
In an industrial warehouse
Where the town ends in billboards
Telling us the World Will End
With a magic hat
All will be revealed
A rabbit leaps out
As children squeal
Happy times
Never to be forgotten
Caught on ‘ hot mic:…
In the spotlight
Our love is in jeopardy
Broken
Irreparable
As spiders abseil down
Spinning webs
Bejewelled like starlets
Embroidered bodies
Eight dynamo legs
Embalming victims
In its thread
Bailing out light
While descending
Herring bone clouds
Above
Looking out for the Red Moon
Crusts of cloud around it
That ‘ looks like a squirrel ‘you say
Yes it does
But that’s not real
You email me your dreams
I read them and nothing makes sense
Our imagination is a kite flying
In heavy wind
Dodging between UFOs
Can you analysis the air racing through
A tunnel?
A hook searching for a fish?
The sense is a sun dipping down
Beneath the horizon
I need a notebook to get it all down
Pages like a lepidopterist’s net catching words
As I try to make sense of the day..
Only the spiders
Trapeze unconcerned through the air
Dripping organic jewelry
And wrapping meals along the way
.
Malcolm Paul