Watching you dance on red fingertips

Watching you dance on red fingertips
I sang out to Sweeney Todd and the Snow Queen,
Jesus and his Virgin.
I knew that feeling,
sanity dripping out the brain,
orange juice out of its carton,
expiring 7 months ago.
I told you
not to link arms with the devil,
hoping to take only one turn
around the dance floor,
lean to the right and do the charleston.
As twilight steps in for a kiss,
I wrestle the angel in the river
and lose, again.
This is getting dull,
strike a match on a guitar string.

I was seen,
found out,
through the eyes
of a sharp toothed novel,
my tears
displayed on a page
of a new sexual revolution,
a new perspective.
Seeing holes in concrete walls,
and concrete people
black wholes-
like the night.
I awoke on a carousel,
tequila shots,
singing in flowers,
the disenfranchised and corporate fuck-ups
raising a fist to Uncle Sam Spade,
I wondered then,
if there was more to give,
a way to change the world
not just be another hit of acid love,
angry nightmares,
soldiers screaming,
mothers writhing,
fathers twitching.

Light a candle,
shower off all the dirt
of the consumer.
Send word to the page of the undertaker,
take the poison
marked enlightenment.
Finally, to see your own ghost
standing behind you,
in the mirror.

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