The fear of death is a private thing-
So you close your eyes
and the black wall of faces
leers back at you,
toothless and old.
but open them,
see the city, blazing,
bounce off the oily river.
See the ferris wheel,
playing no music
it leaves those at the top
spinning in silence.
See the fat lady,
knees hidden by swollen thighs,
drip tears into the stardust.
Gripping the greasy metal rail
suspended for a gray instant in space.
A damp breeze carries the smell
of vinegar,
of unwashed hair,
of too much sugar.
Bile, copper,and salt,
touches the back of your throat,
and you swallow hard before you drop.
The rushing wind of the roller coaster
tears strips of sound from the nights;
"three throws for a dollar Mister,
and your wife throws for free."
(where would you hang a black-velvet
painting of jesus, walking on the waves,
unafraid of death or god?)
Hear the cracked strains of an off-key
country band singing "glory hallelujah."
Hear the tinny whine of the carousel.
Hear the drunk in the next stall,
heaving beer and polish sausage.
After the spotlights, the flashlights,
the neon, fluorescent, and headlights,
The moonlight pours subtle and cool
across burned eyes.
Lying under sweat-tangled sheets
darkness, stillness, quiet
settles blank and heavy-
but still you spin.
The sea of black faces grins toothless and old,
So close your eyes...
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