The Disinfected Gallery of the Therapied Brain

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

So clear and yet ambiguous the scene

Holds more — a haunting on the canvas, ghost

As moon predicting death, the muzzle keen

For jugular beside the undermost

Of midnight curls, the curls like heavy braids.

The lion’s mane points coarsely to the coat

Of many colors.  Lest the dreaming fades,

The lute is tucked beneath the victim throat.

The blue is blue and yet it fades.  The sea

Of aqua bores because it isn’t sweat

Or paranoia.  Alone we see

The truth.  The gypsy fails to feel the threat.

  Should you step into desert nightmares or

    Wake up before the cosmos turns to gore?

~ Phillip Whidden