White light, pricks of pin
pupils all are we
Yet I see it on her lips,
an expression before the mission
But it was I who learned the precarious tricks
of the tireless, foreboding vagabond trade
For she was such an unassuming girl
with frilly skirt, a ribbon and a bow,
She took me to the silted river to wash me down the drain
The spirit, it entered my brow as it cast me toward the shore
Elves and fairies were with me there too as they folded my clothes
and provided a sprinkle of golden honey set drops of the most exquisite gilded rain
For it was in the flow of her face that my desperate heart began to hunger and yearn, hankering for heaven in the finest piece of girlie covered leather loincloth
But I cannot say that I felt it in the tenderness of her touch
nor can I say that it came from the feelings that could be described as such
In a spout of ignorance I lifted my stilted head to see her
but found that whatever I might think she was no longer there to be seen
And oh how I cried as I knew nothing of her shadow, figure and shape
Her hair was a mystery to me, her breasts were yet to be touched
Still it was in my imagination that her image always lingers,
a lesson to be learned, a fire upon the altar of an infinite ghost, a harlot
for the homeless in a lonely sedentary town
In the emptiness of a vacant space she is sometimes said to emerge
With displaced thoughts she may wander about, an expedition
for a disheveled traveler who might try to dispose of his mind in an effort
to discern the mystical meaning of flight
Because it is in the steely bust of a journeyman's gnome that gargoyle's
make an appearance
Brilliant kisses for a giant demon parading his hips somewhere under the moon,
a marriage made for Hades, a precious gift for a May bearing queen
But do not be afraid and do not inject it into your vein,
the incandescent fright is likely to caress your sensitive spots
before the horse has made its circle in a magic dance
that will soothe your uninhabited skull before the inexperienced teacher has been blown away
So as you have it, the phantom has no urge to disembowel the night
Just a tiny frightened girl making her way across the waterfront
during an unanticipated, annual competition in a dubious conjugal swirl
pupils all are we
Yet I see it on her lips,
an expression before the mission
But it was I who learned the precarious tricks
of the tireless, foreboding vagabond trade
For she was such an unassuming girl
with frilly skirt, a ribbon and a bow,
She took me to the silted river to wash me down the drain
The spirit, it entered my brow as it cast me toward the shore
Elves and fairies were with me there too as they folded my clothes
and provided a sprinkle of golden honey set drops of the most exquisite gilded rain
For it was in the flow of her face that my desperate heart began to hunger and yearn, hankering for heaven in the finest piece of girlie covered leather loincloth
But I cannot say that I felt it in the tenderness of her touch
nor can I say that it came from the feelings that could be described as such
In a spout of ignorance I lifted my stilted head to see her
but found that whatever I might think she was no longer there to be seen
And oh how I cried as I knew nothing of her shadow, figure and shape
Her hair was a mystery to me, her breasts were yet to be touched
Still it was in my imagination that her image always lingers,
a lesson to be learned, a fire upon the altar of an infinite ghost, a harlot
for the homeless in a lonely sedentary town
In the emptiness of a vacant space she is sometimes said to emerge
With displaced thoughts she may wander about, an expedition
for a disheveled traveler who might try to dispose of his mind in an effort
to discern the mystical meaning of flight
Because it is in the steely bust of a journeyman's gnome that gargoyle's
make an appearance
Brilliant kisses for a giant demon parading his hips somewhere under the moon,
a marriage made for Hades, a precious gift for a May bearing queen
But do not be afraid and do not inject it into your vein,
the incandescent fright is likely to caress your sensitive spots
before the horse has made its circle in a magic dance
that will soothe your uninhabited skull before the inexperienced teacher has been blown away
So as you have it, the phantom has no urge to disembowel the night
Just a tiny frightened girl making her way across the waterfront
during an unanticipated, annual competition in a dubious conjugal swirl
Gerald Marchewka is an American freelance writer currently living
in Lowell, Massachusetts. His most recent books, "Straight from the
Heaven's: Li Bai's Poetry in Retrospect" featuring the illustrations of
Seb Folwer and "Poetry for the Beat Generation, Volume l" are available
on Lulu.com He may be reached at
