Yellow Dawn

(For Joe Pulver)

Weaver of dreams. Eternal

Behind the pallid mask

Sitting on his throne (rust)

The alleyway, wet, dark

Night, thick, puddles from rain

(Or tears?)

Memories of book owner, grim

Sweat stained shirt, toothless

Cash passed, book slid

Squirmed? Across counter

Opened!! Vistas... Word? Words?

Brightness, land scape so so so...

Desolate ..

2 moons in sky? Or is it in the sea?

There she is, holding a lily, so golden.

Dances with love, laughter, smiles wide.

He touches her, silk hair, wet kisses

Of cold! Freezing! God!! Freezing

Wait! Numb yes

Better... So much better

Awake. Dream.

Mouth like cotten. Needs drink

Touches throat. Unshaven for days

Damp pillowcase stuck to cheek

Dust rains down from above.

Like cobwebs of filtere(d) thoughts

No pillowcase, no sheet,

Just silken mask. Clings tight

Like long lost lover. Forever blind

Remembers stumbling. Cold night

Rain washes down. Doesnt cleanse him.

Eyes. Grey faces appearing from windows.

Falls. His throne warm under his frame.

Remove mask. Cannot. Wishes not

Its a spider. Lovingly holding prey

Dark soul screams. No ears hear

-Rick Powell


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