James WF Roberts
Dream—scapes dance upon this blank landscape
whispers of love, cannot be counted,
nightmares of joy, shadows of wonder;
and the scent of it, lingering on my soul.
It follows me down the city streets,
echoes down alleyways, and blocks my entrance
upon old blue stone steps,
spewing forth with the rest of the regret
with the rest of the tumult; party-goers,
revellers, lonely virgins
heartbroken minstrels, would-be serial killers,
masquerading as poets, artists, singers in a band—and poets
who are masquerading as the marquis de sade
it sniffs me out, it dances in the shadows,
hides in the sunlight, it’s big dark eyes see all
it’s dark heart knows your deepest fears,
flirts with my most depraved longings
he sniffs at me door, the long black coat,
the cold gnarled hands
turn the handle, feast of eternity laid out before
lying in the bed of Dawn
gorging myself on the sorrow of fate
spins the dice; sign the paper in the blood
of the innocent—the thing you may have once been
the thing I never was, nor could be.
The monsters all run away
they see what I am now…
they mark me in blood, their longing my desire
your fear my nourishment
didn’t you once wish to know me?
What depraved act do you wish to commit?
Buying up love, as statues hidden in my garden
when could love come for me?
When will love depart us all?
In the glass I see the snorting snout
the thick furry clothes
the body, a bulk like a lumbering bear
am I now what I dread?
Am I now what I long for?
Am I now the black dog?