a portrait of a summers carnival
carlos manuel
Adrift this tense and tickled dreary day, my mind strains at teased
exaggerated weary thoughts. Time tears at shreds dragged out along sagging
threads of waiting. Anxiety has my highest committed testament at trial,
while society regards bias this regiment of my desire.
Adrift this tense and tickled dreary day, I swiftly wonder aimlessly through
halls of wrinkled sense and theory. I search for an anchor to bring this
insecurity perhaps only to a stagger. Yet staring into many eyes watching my
every cued disguise as though is was a simple wearing, I close my lids in
awesome fearing.
Minuets swaying and hours creeping every moment enough to set me weeping,
waiting still in silence I sit slowly seeping.
Adrift this tense and tickled dreary day, Adrift this scorched and wilted
weathered wall. Each etched face pressed as deeply into solid stone, each
mouth echoing meekly another dithered moan. Oh won’t some enlightened weakly
soul care to hear another slithered groan.
A swift and gentle gesture suddenly relieves, this torn and twisted torment
now but only worn. Lifting up my head recalling all that I had seen and that
I had sworn, a single ghostly figure peering though this gauntlet dawn.
Reading through our stew of haunted correspondence swimming around my mind,
new emotions begin to brew as feelings start to bind.
A smile gleaming from your eyes, you spin a steaming web around, like a
child I’m bound without a sound in awe watching at what I saw. You order
cheap white wine, or was it I, my memory fades in all this time. I’m lost in
gushes of rhyme as words steam in flushes down my spine. I stare deeply upon
your face and dare to assume eternal grace. Clown of chase you gown in
alluring taste besides that cloth worn in the lewdest waist.
While my heart beats apart this silly dread, I gasp at all your frilly jest
dressed in the brightest red. Play a little faster at that brittle mime, for
I’m the only one who’s always running out of time. Sobbing at the turning
hands, which fall like desert sands, robbing my soul of this hallowed tool,
named only the as the fool. I pass a silver dime requesting just another
rhyme, only song dulls this parting which seems so ever long.
Wrong in mood upon this sandy shore, ignoring all the faithful local lore, I
tie my mind up above in the midnight sky. Counting stars as though they were
days until freedom from behind these prison bars. Adrift this tender warm
and tempting Eden, even my utterly most protracted thoughts distracted.
Minuets sway and hours creep every moment I do weep, waiting still in
silence I sit and slowly seep.
I sob watching hands, which turn and fall like desert sands, they rob my
soul of my hallowed tool, named appropriately the fool. My mind no longer
strains at teased exaggerated thoughts, but rather bellows in painful
saturated bulges of desire like extraordinary warts.
Swift and gentle gestures, simple brush and tender touch, a supple kiss that
reveals far too much. A luscious smile speaking words of rhyme, always worth
that other dime. The juggler the jester the lover the clown, always striking
that anchor that keeps the earth bound.
Ground in this maze of marvelous magnitude, my head spins in most awesome
gratitude. His game he could play almost a day without his intentions
becoming lame. Yet this was only to be the beginning of my elaborately
sculpted jubilee, for I was still to see a startling harlequin’s true
baneful trickery.
Carlos Manuel – 31 march 1998
A portrait of a summers carnival
-I would be honored if you'd send me a crit on this
tah