P oetry R epair S hop 1999.09:101
- CONTEMPORARY INTERNATIONAL POETRY
- by new, emerging, and established poets

RALPH MONDAY
The Devil's Makeup

Up the long wooden 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.  'Til 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.

Poem copyright 1999; all rights reserved. (If you wish to copy this poem, please contact its AUTHOR).