Roundtable of Defeat


Amidst the waiting there is something I hold,
A memory best left forgotten, an image of old.
Thick with dust and longing mixed with coagulated tears,
My whole world comes to fruition…the disgusting copulation of all my fears.
A gathering of the unknown at the round table of defeat,
All of you, I ask your forgiveness; I cower at your feet.
I rend myself and display the pieces,
Stained glass soul for sale, defaulted upon leases.
Husk for rent, roomy interior, lots of hope, but musty with sorrow,
What will it cost to clean up this mess? I’ll take care of it tomorrow.
I’m caught in this snap-shot, this picture, and suffocated by its frame,
The artist left his archaic trademark, but didn’t bother to append his name.
I languish and recall that there is something I left behind,
On a path to nowhere, the nascent beginnings of which extend endlessly in my mind.
A path thick with dust and longing mixed with coagulated tears,
My whole world turned inside out…slopping brains and ringing ears.
The totality of my circumstances siphoned into jars inundated with hungry fireflies which lay quietly at their hallowed feet,
The fireflies always dancing…swarming about an endless gathering of the unknown at the round table of defeat.


Sushanna