SEA OF MURDER

The fires of Heracleitus

dance their flickering steps

with legs of tongue across the crimson waves

which tower like trees of spikes.

You’ve seen the moons

that hide their faces

between the streets where crime

is but a moment’s dream,

a monkey prancing

in the aisles of supermarkets

vomiting up pricetags

with a scream of wanton hatred.

This was the end,

the wandering fen of dialogue

could not extend the avenues

which were for stewfeathers,

black flames lighting up the sky

in roaring screams of wonder.

The waves splashed high

upon the parapets

of catapulting dreams

the dolce vita song

cascading through our hearts

in bloody streams.

What we had eaten in our time

was dark and filled with terror

yet the flavors dance more lightly

on our nerves

than any fairy tales of summers

filled with icicles and apple cores.

It was still upon the treetops that we danced,

Nietzschian aristocrats of anarchy

whose crimes were but the butterflies of love

embraced in madness,

blowing kisses

to a rumbling storm of violence and beauty.

These epileptic seizures never caused the harm

that springs from monolithic orders,

and the ways were full

and bountiful with laughter,

like a flea who’d found the universe too small.

The horse whose head

had turned to bowls of cherries

juggled all your canopies

of green tomorrows

in the fiery spheres of chocolate nights.

It was here that we drank those wines

whose delicate flavors

reminded one of the kidneys of Jack the Ripper

danced upon in twilight escapades.

We were the monkey’s flickering tongues of flame

which made this dream

the laughter of nights

beyond the blind eyes

floating in the soup

of Heracleitus’ malice.