Ghazal in Thirteen

For bad luck, Joe D, and Marilyn.

Blood oranges of sunset yaw pastel, without you.
I crawl through insect dreams and live in hell, without you.

Each cigarette evokes your ghost, so live and leisured.
Photography traps fools, still clientele, without you.

With Bosch's severed limbs are portraits limned. No longer
Does beauty lift her face from Raphael, without you.

My logy touch taps sandalwood—your leg, imagined—
An image much too wooden to compel, without you.

Sound deadens, withers, stales as if the air is aged
And crippled with despair, entombed. A shell, without you.

No Alexander, I—nor king, nor prince, no lover
Through each excruciating night. Each cell. Without you.



Survivor Poetry Contest
Trigger 13, Form E (Ghazal)