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.