by LJ Frank

 

 

Where are you at

this moment, 

are you just a Tamarind seed

of my imagination

to smooth the wrinkles of time

Saturdays mourn for you

as the metabolism of culture interrupted us

accountability in the Age of Rumor,

have you anything in your background

the machine asked

that might cause cheeks to blush,

like the rose tattoo on the derrière

the Internet spins its web

for the flower inked on skin

may equate to something more provocative.

 

Ambiguity effectuates desire

pleasing the audience from a stage 

while performing in 4-inch heels 

a marriage of business and pleasure

on a platform that no longer exists

attached to Detroit’s Cass Avenue

a few blocks from the uncensored library

life is living with aged bones

dancing in the streets

no money to do much else

except to caress

while the patriots’ play their role

of an endangered Phoenix rising

zealots of belief to disinform

and interrupted occurs once more

in the theater of the absurd

and a person wearing a cleric’s vestments

solemnly rose to the occasion

and began sharing pills from a purse

in shades of blue

the flaccid became erect 

social media adores the lie

and the crowd sang His praise.

 

And midst the choir of amazing grace

it began to rain

our gazes crossed paths

we hurried out from under the storm

we felt like two living portraits  

alive in the Detroit Institute of Arts

faces across from each other

yet our eyes touched in the gallery

followed by the thickness of sensual lips

our tongues kissed

your brown breasts under your blouse

pressed against

my covered hairy white chest

we were bound in the selfless moment

no desire wished to be unexplored

yet catching our breaths, we knew

we were on separate paths

academic degrees and honors in the making

to be affixed on walls of pride

and then one day while you spoke

to your prophet

and I to mine

in honor of some ancient, fabled ritual

another Saturday passed in want.

 

In time a digital cloud was formed

critiques now forever lingering

while the richest among the sheep

grinned in their socialist circles

and a voice asked, whose turn, is it?

Let them have morsels of hope

and compete among each other,

the dice was then tossed

across the pavement of existence

rolling into the sewer system

such is chance,

fairness is not part of the heart’s journey

one only must ask Anne,

a distant relative from the Netherlands

among the millions who have perished

on all continents over the ages

from the judgments of others

profiles dissected to fulfill

the need for a decision

cupidity never has enough

in the coffers of the soul.

 

And in our dreams

we are just a couple holding hands

and pretending it was all a surreal illusion

a black and white celluloid moment

from a forgotten film

while walking down Woodward Avenue

and knowing is the first step to forgetting

while gossipmongers have nothing better to do

within their make-believe heads

it’s easier to point at a splinter

as the log has become an addendum

and we wondered at the time

will there be a background check

on our dreams and thoughts tomorrow?

And will there be a pill to distort

to confuse the voyeurs self-perceived efficacy

and will humanity be reimagined

as an intelligent nanobot…

shaped to fit

the evolving architecture of the humane

and will truth no-longer be

you or me

still, our spirits long to be

in each other’s arms.