Poetic Interlude CXVII

Dreams and Landscapes
By Tyler J. Yoder

south america

You’re old enough to lie, aren’t you, darling?
It’s life at all that’s so hard:

In the uninhabitable hours, I dally with my memories of you,
Then I put on a veil, blow out the candle, and hide on the chaise –
Sometimes, it’s necessary to lounge in evening clothes all day.

I want to arise, like a libertine angel, covered in cloud and in fire;
My heart was not gnawed by a specific tiger, my love.

There are days when I hardly speak;
I will frequently take vows of silence that are broken within an hour.
The ghost of Yeats will not leave me alone, today,
And I can think of no better way to die than a bathtub of champagne:
My sorrows, apparently, are survivors – why won’t we drown?
The secret ingredient is my blood; it tastes of cocktail music.

I had a dream, of the Emperor and Empress of Brazil;
We discovered a hamlet drowned in years, at the foot of an active volcano.
I had a strange desire to replace my teeth with carved ivory,
and with the unfertilized eggs of a dead woman.

In the uninhabitable hours, my love, I grow frustrated by the intersection of our madness.
The ghosts of our surviving sorrows, and our dreams, buried in an antique child-sized casket,
Are covered in cloud and fire.

You’re old enough to lie, aren’t you, darling?
It’s life at all that’s so hard.

©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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