ephemeral tragedian's dream.
Tried to live and let it go, but it remains,
inscribed in cream tangerine.
I've a vampire's need to live and be beautiful;
it has left me now hollow.
Damn my luck! I've grown to love a thing
that I'll never grow to know.
But I'll rewrite those depressing memoirs!
and they'll remain in my soul,
Eteched as premonition of the future,
reminding I'm not yet whole.
Now it is orange, my shade, that conquers
my world's anonymity.
Leave me to seach my bitter creative juices;
* * * *
Orange foam, swirl swirl, ecstatic miasma.
The moon's awake and wants a taste
of its surging orange plasma.
Grey recedes--it knows that citrus is the rising Master.
Unforgiving takes the throne carved of tangy alabaster.
Whirlpool, swirl swirl, among a hundred islands,
straight from hell with souls to sell,
condemned me for my silence.
And so I speak:
it's not my fault the miasma took hold of ye.
Foam, rise to the surface and down.
Another citrus tragedy.