Our Man in Europe/Belize, Dave Delacroix, age 69: "Winged R the Devils."
WINGED R the Devils we KNOW, the years "Fly Fleance Fly!" that MURDER the beloved, the rascals, FRIENDS, no jokes-no more; eclectic kisses-stained lipstick "YO's!" on tavern boards in expectation, but no Winged Devil to bring Home all they once rejoiced? SHADDUP & Die Young! -someone said.
Shadows IN shade, no Paparazzi-glare to lantern, to candle, to isolate Time's FANG in echoed song, "Anacreon in Heaven We raise our glass to thee!" righting all wrong, goodly, but usurped by Winged Devils in un-tapped consciousness, tomorrow's Nativity betrayed in utero: WotchagonnaDO!? An existential Wonder! NEXT!!!
Winged R the Devils, seething, THIRST, a tankard of ale, a cask-wine, blood-pined! And shattered, the Cellar of your Soul, the Winged Devils will find U there. Who FUCKED the Lamb, if not You, then ME! Canines, Wolves, Jackels mark their spot on trees. Picture. Winged Devils feign disinterest. Do You?
Winged R the Devils, in the mirror, in your face, a beloved, in Winter, who hold U close till Summer then GONE! Seen no more. As All Hallowed Souls writhe, wail, tormented, Centuries in chorus, an En-tombed Hollywood-fail. Dante's Inferno, the Musical! ...Abstractly, we sometimes wonder: "Whatever happened to Lucy, Bill or Jim?" Winged R the Devils we know.
c.2024. davedelacroix, Xmas encore.
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