Poem By A. L. Breitling

With every face, the absence deepens
and the amethystic properties of promise
stumble on the flagstone of improbability.

The dipsomaniac or dionysiac brings questions
in the light of wine to a fruition
fast designed by chained desires.

Hoyden smiles, conveys an eyebrow up
then sips upon the scent of indecision
manifest in the discomfort of the victim:

‘This is where we are,
just you and I,
protected by the curtains
and blind eyes
of those who have no wish to see
the extend of indiscretion
and the power of perversity.’

Denial falls upon deaf ears and hears
the weakness of its own response
echoed in the truth of cardinal want.

What “is” commands no difference
on present circumstances;
what “could be” measures degree in our obsession.

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Other poems of BREITLING


What have you got there?
A spirograph on a globe and those lines
that aren’t quite so unintended or random
but you can’t see them in the mechanism,


With my heart in my hand,


Proteus the shape shifter,
in every way potential,
arose: broad shoulders, rounded breast,
divided between ocean and miasmal mist –


Garden is not garden
or the farthest hedge,
or the tea-rose trellis
where the glass snake rests his head

To Beauty

Drink to me only with thine eyes
and leave the beer for yours truly.
I know it’s hard not to despise
this poetic ha and quite unruly


As she is, she is kept
under some cold illicit rock
where feminine and tension
coil together, compressing