by LJ Frank

a grainy wind preceded the rain

the theater’s doors now ajar

the poetic as allegory enters

stage right

and a chimera embraces the ceiling

the theater’s clock becomes an echo

as compassion approaches midnight

things that never happened seem real

as the Ballet Dancer dances on a darkened stage

with eyes raised her face brightens

a momentary glow from a singular theatrical light

one may have wished for a different symphonic dance

eyes suggestive with soft lips parting

a plea…a prayer from her aching soul

each step appears wanting something bolder

a provocative postmodern interpretation 

while the Cellist plays a song of a tragic romance

on a wanting sensual and earthy note

life’s rehearsal is its own dramatic gesture

while a virus hides behind the curtain

in the lair of the liar’s head,

and woven in the living threads of a surreal score

the spectators are filled with embattled fatigue

 as a carcass lays at the doors of the theater’s entrance

the eros of existence now appears to be in question

a flag is draped over a rusted metal coffin

next to an empty refreshment stand

a pandemic yet to be finished

the noble if not aristocratic staging

starving for an intervention

a vaccine for the soul beyond the needle in the skin

another body waits in the balcony

and the scenes of sensuous touch are no longer

for the taste of immortality dissipates

the dancer bows her head with legs crossed

as the Cellist’s wand hints at an adagio

violence to the human heart is merely pornographic

and consciousness begins to feel like a heavy mist

drifting over the dais of indulgence

and the Ballet Dancer cocks her head

the Cellist plucks a string

and a voice off stage murmurs

as conscience weeps in a rising whisper…

if only for the sake of.