brando (II)

the mater dolorasas in grey

stacked in their isles

the weathered courtyard

its dried and boxed up well

and just outside it all

the sorrow and golden tones

quaver in fractals

among the old callous stones.

the tree in the center

long ago stopped bearing fruit

so they have a potted plant

for the sake of atmosphere


the night comes on beautiful

deep dark and pink

that midsummer alchemical feeling of substance

the forms all limned

burnished golds and tiered guilt

I can’t go in yet

not tonight

nights like this

souls imposed to exile

for fear of the closing day


people are dancing

the fish market cleared of viscera

I sit on a slab missing its cleavers

it doesn’t matter if anyone’s any good

there’s a romance about it anyways

rising from the floor

just past the columns

tenuous filaments threaded between

bare spaces and the light

and it tells us

stay a little longer

it tells us


the night will come on

and it will be weightless


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