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Up the long
wooder stair, bubbles In my head I tread toward the Circe Sound, a hound in heat, I never miss A beat. Five times I turn to leave; three times I momentarily grieve; twice I self scold. Then I am told by the angel riding my shoulder To take heart, ascend the boulder. Which I do, fearless fool, feeling the Throbbing tool in my head that leads Me instead into the dark bar. One black beer, barkeep. The foam on the edge like seawaves at night; The tongue cool glistens, pounding drone: Some unknown music a still tone That beckons the long belighted dawn A century away. Till I find her black sleekness, A German torpedo, stiletto cool, heat seeking The steel plates, buttery turned gaze, a half Remembrance of Odyssean sirens. I know better than this--still, but one kiss That undermined Troy, a toy best left unplayed. Made that decision with modern music, Stones, A mind phone without conscious connection. She wore the Devil's makeup: hair like a blistered Dream, skin creamed by too many nights, various Personal fights, puppies stuck through her top Swirled by the black mop of shattered dreams. I approached and said hello. She didn't say no. Smiled the Eden tree. We touched fingers, shared a drink. The night, would of course, be a disaster. After I would try to forget. Pray and pray, cherish my idols. However in the beginning is the ending. All I thought of was Dante cycles. (To copy or translate this poem, please contact RALPH MONDAY) TRANSLATOR and ILLUSTRATOR WANTED FOR THIS PAGE
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