Pandora Glitters As The World Ends

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There is…
the moon, broken off like an ice sculpture in progress.
Fragments flutter in then out, bloom through the atmosphere
a red flower brilliant as chips from a kaleidoscope.

Her fingers delicate as yesterday's tide fall from my shoulder.
She’s drawn the curtains to the patio doors
afraid to view the ocean's response.

I tell her it's not bad, that the island stretches
off the coast like breadcrumbs
scattered absently by a hungry child.

I peer through the curtains making a part like a cat's eye
she still won’t look. It's the sound of the waves
marching against shoreline that bothers her;

they leave a grating echo that sends
your backbone rigid like a long scream into the wind.
Pandora doesn't want to see what that looks like.

Tired of the play-by-play, she straddles me, blocks the view.
Her arms fold around me to gather in time; histories of us are
condensed into desperate consumption then filtered out through pores
like dreams of a perfect life.

We are in sync with a collapsing nature.
Our movements copy the gnawing of the beach.
We pace the fury of the moon spitting fragments at the earth
in an unalterable ride of gravity.

Pandora glitters in this chaos
her nails anchor in my shoulder unapologetic.
Yesterday we made love, talked in whispers like teenagers
but fear would not hide and made our tenderness a threesome,
colored it tragic like the cloudless sky.

Today we are fucking in a frenzy
desperate enough to blot out everything.
The world is still a moan but cannot pierce our intensity.

We are runaways
like the bicycle careening down the hill
like pieces of the moon
like gravity.

Too soon my illusions are brushed aside
as soft as the cushioned crash
of bone and feather to glass.
Crazy bird, its song like a cry of recognition.

The phone chirps a chorus. It is Alain, he thinks
the birds are committing suicide;
dozens have flown into his windows.
He talks about his wife, how she spun off like the birds
two days before today.

He hears my silence asks if we want to come over
his monotonous voice like
the hollow crunch of leaves
fills me with his loss. Pandora changes rhythm above me
rocks her hips in a quarter moon stroke.

She nods her head I mouth the words no
but still yes comes out.
She rises, smiles at the glistening left
smoothes her dress and tells me it's not the time to be alone
not when days pass like this one.

I watch her walk past the window
a piece of the moons tears a spotlight for her
and Pandora glitters at the end of the world.

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WickedEveWickedEveover 15 years ago
~

Your poem has been mentioned on the review thread for Thursday.