Key to the City

The high of a trip through the mountains,

pure air gliding past green limbs.

Water rushes with simple necessity,

but we did not stop there.

 

Into the pollution of smoky greed,

grey walls of the encampment

fail to veil the scent of money,

and hideously unquenchable lust.

 

Lights blare madly, with intoxication.

Patterns spiral as though beautiful.

But there is something wrong

rhythm lacking, madness in excess.

 

Deceitful trolls peer between the cards,

rushing the ponies as they stumble

from their shabby stables to deliver

concoctions of earnest untruths.

 

Agenda without business.

Invitation minus place.

As the rooms dwindle,

the mind explores other realms.

 

Canned heat, empty music, and

too many bodies lurching, taking.

Without a sense of time, the night

wilts beneath an artificial sun.

 

Strolling out into the night,

one figure exhales deeply,

while the other can’t pull free

from the insistent tug of chance.

 

Beckoning, brainwashing, seducing,

the factory of unattainable dreams

and contagious wealth sucks in the

susceptible wisp of a soul; vacuumed.

 

There is no harmony in this night.

Fists against walls, bloody.

Cracked forehead oozing.

Eyes small and to the point. 

 

A body hugs the prepubescent gutter-

yellow shoes embarrassed

by the decay of potential joy-

flailing in the street, shyly smudged.

 

The whirlwind hovers for an instant,

only to careen off in search of water;

venomous veins of ineptitude

laid bare to the mouth of a hoax.

 

Opening the door, she understands that

THIS was the reason for the two keys,

matching in appearance but

destined to go their separate ways.

 

When the night darkens with shame,

a form crouches beside the wall-

a sheer wall of windows, seven feet up.

The lights shine, winking lecherously.

 

A call is made to the past; no response.

A question is asked of the horizon:

what to do when someone is past saving?

Who will survive if only one of two can?

 

The small boat rocks as dawn approaches,

tipping with internal frenzy.

Casualties are familial like furniture.

A lamp beheaded yet weeps.

 

The guards come to take him away,

hollering through the thin door.

The sparrow sits on the nest silently,

sighing with this newfound secret.

 

Before the hurricane, a breeze arrived,

tearing at branches. Though harmless,

evil intent did nonetheless foul the earth

with humid breath- in and out.

 

Dismembered body of time,

please regard me with compassion.

Though we were not close,

I grew to know you much too well.

 

I was not impressed.

 

 Jennifer Burnside

October 7, 2014