IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHTS : Where Noir Meets Verse

IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHTS

Dark-mirrored hallways

a dim precision march

Here we have tread before

Without fear/Well measured

Pagan desires and objective

Study. Pavlov’s dog is still

Breathing, his cigarette falls

To the floor and he dances like

a manic animal. Lost in the

headlights, accidents shall

occur once more. There are

no excuses left for avatars,

no reasons left for men,

only lights in the doorways

flicker and then they slowly

===F===A===D===E

(to grey)

(to grey)

(to grey)

out.

exit.



_________________________________

N I G H T

 

In the dark we rarely see 

Images from movies appear 

Easy to remain the voyeur 

As Bogart stares at Bacall. 

Here, are your vampires 

your child-like apparitions 

Yet true monsters are by far 

better dressed and elusive 

who, when asked to be truthful 

shall lie as they calculate your 

fate, look into your eyes and say 

“Don’t worry, all is well”. 

There is something strange about 

demons, night holds the key, we 

devoured by these realities which 

someone has named the truth. 

And yet, who if asked would pray 

for a parallel universe? Would you? 

Would God do this after listening 

to choirs? So uninspired 

that he would need to cool off? 

This is an impersonation, he is 

wearing old spice, his shirt open 

down to his navel. Disgusted, we 

turn away from this sight, a decaying 

Casanova hiding in the shadows of his youth.

As night approaches, we, much like 

our old ancestors, still stare into the 

fires and wonder about our lives, dream 

of our own private shambalas, forget, 

pass the bottle and survive. 

But is this all we shall amount to? 

When all we know is nothing, 

Except this

 

____________________________________

A POEM FROM MY DESTRUCTIONS

And now alas yet another poem from my destructions,

You, witness to and here in new flesh and new skin.

The skin of hero, the skin of snake, the skin of monster, the skin of saint all gradually and eventually shedding piece by piece living and dying and reinventing the world. Poems, photographs, enemies and the catastrophes which perish into the void. Paper, undigested words, mute horses and mad nostalgic whores, all reality deficient and nocturnally deaf to the unpure beating heart of man and muse. Reason-religion-idealism-theory….and shit. The perfect and critical butt-flight of monkeys and the cacophony of idle crows who sit upon the fences of eternity passing judgment upon our souls until we give in…to emptiness. But let them all know this;

That Jesus came unabridged with two fish and a loaf of bread, more a poet than a precise carpenter and he fed multitudes….

“With hope”

____________________________________

 

LAST CALL

When stars fall out of the sky and 

all lights fade into silence.

When you grow cold

Eyes grow old

Touch grows cold

Stars fall out of the sky

And lights still fade.

After years

After hours

After moments

That never mattered

You grow cold

Love grows cold

Eyes grow old

And love fails..falls,

Fucked up and silent

Foolish and waiting

In the corner.

When the universe mo longer

Yields to your commands

When the mirror finally breaks

And all you are left with is glass

You grow old

touch grows cold

eyes grow old

And all of the stars still

Fall out of the sky

It’s time for the last call.

_______________________________

 

 

 

R.M. Engelhardt Copyright 2005.