The Party

We walked in the streets
Cold and narrow
The song of a woman,
Rippled in the corners of my mind,
Her every word
The beat of my steps
Yellow lit windows
Draw us like flies to faecess,
Like the bug to the lantern.

He sees the mud and skulls churn
Each step, closer to anguish
Across the path of faux gold,
Across the cold walls
Smells of wild flowers
Awkwardly caress the scent of smog,
Failing its self
Failing its purpose

He sees the stormy moon
Engulfed in black
Death drifting from the aurora of its glow
Making the world naked
See the rat which scampers
That man which lingers
Swaying, knees weak, intoxicated
See her body.
See it shake as her arms fail
Her legs fail
Her eyes shimmer ghostly and lifeless

The yellow road ceases
Your steps are no longer routine
Her voice comes to halt
Her song is killed
Suffocated by mouths
In tasteless repartee
'Open the door' he demands
'Open into the mouth of Lucifer'
Should I be a David, ready to be offered?
Do I enter and dare disturb the tapestry of the universe?
Do I open my mouth and beg apologies for my lateness
My awkwardness
Only to have eyes
Those eyes that erode upon an ocean cliff
How they pierce
And those mouths are fierce
How they rest from their useless work
The eyes
The silence
The motionless mouths
Do I enter and cause the world to spin off its axis
Into the void

And soon the mouth will ask if I fancy a drink
The death of silence has been murdered
And do I say
'I thirst for things you do not know'
'Brandy, Whisky' spits the mouth
And do I say
'A plum I declare'
'Whisky will do'

And will eyes follow as I take my spirit
And migrate to the dim corner
The corner of my mind
Her voice returns drags me again
Only for a fraction of time
Only to be drowned by a mouth
So many mouths

And the mouth will talk
Clicking its tongue
Spitting out hideous syllables
Slicing the butter
Spilling the tea
Burning the flesh
Stripping the forest bare
As the moon does to memories
Breaking my bones
And leaving me for the wolves

No the mouth does not reprimand
But exudes the pleasantries of a pedophile
And the smile of a vigilante
It says it reads books
And cherishes looks
I am in a coma
The mouth tries to revive me
But succeeds as much as the wildflowers.

by Anthony Dakhoul

Other poems of DAKHOUL (3)

Comments (1)

I honestly don't know what to think of this, I'm sure the way it is written has something to do with meaning. The wildflowers, must they represent life, and coma death? Is the mouth the thing that longs for you, yet kills you? This is a very interesting piece.