Addicts

” Your heart sweats, your body aches, another kiss; is what it takes” – Addicted to Love – Robert Palmer Prowling junkies came a’ cruisin’ last night, sifting scented debris, rummaging tipped trash can detritus in the setting sun; their black bear bellies growling with gnawing hunger. The carnage set right as the sun burned through the sky, your angel face fused in billowing cotton candy clouds, an ember glowing in the dawn. Secreting my treasured image, sleepwalking through first light a grateful somnambulist; I give the day away. As dark gathers into the sky wings of light grow dim and die. Purple dusk fades to orange blush revealing dark armies of pointed spruce in the shadows; my mood wistful in these hours when hearts are naked. A little fog drifts over the lake hanging like gauze, mixing with the chimney smoke that ties the roofs to the heavens; a fine smell of burning pine wood fills the crystal air. The light is holy tonight; set free from a candle brought from Chinatown in San Francisco. I astral plane home lying ’round with friends left; chivalrous Knights beautiful and wise; the good they did in thoughts and wild deeds live on, echoing, keeping sneers from lips of sour scholars. Men and women from which came sweetness, joy and philanthropy and in the end mystic sorrow. When I left the talisman was lost. Nomadic transformation, peripatetic metamorphosis from that place to this, my path now marked by twinkling stars in northern hemispheres; walking under stony skies; burning steps ricocheting, reverberating and resonating in this sacred and sublime wilderness. Hard days came and went; some froze in place, some hide in terror, some ran away; some spread their wings and soared like eagles; finding wisdom not to fear shadows in the night; courage when days of danger truly dawn. Unselfish love was our pulse; gifted without a price. The more we practiced it, especially in the face of withering indifference and rejection, the richer and greater we became. I saw your apparition tonight while surfing the carnival; the ghost of the girl kissed on the tilt-a-whirl. The love struck aroma of home-made banana bread baking like the scent from the nape of your neck carries me home. Your wild calls throwing caution to the wind; massaging needle marks from main-lining your memory pounding in my marrow. Till the sky falls down and I dream again and it ends in you and me; how I’ll wish you were here.

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About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and Culture.net and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

4 Responses to Addicts

  1. Paulie says:

    NIcko puts he spotlight on it, lighting up the deepest holes and bending the light around corners others never inspected. Never suspected. Sometimes lit for an interrogation, other times lit for a miner’s eyes. But always close enough for the breath to fog the lens.

    • Wow! What a comment; like the first few sentences of a Novel. Makes it worth the words written; thanks.

  2. James Mcfarland says:

    Visceral, mind blowing, intense. Holographic images transpose from the page to the reader’s inner eye. Continuity and message interweave with imagery. A Masesso masterpiece. 9.9 rating

    • Finally reached the illusive 9.9! Now, to get that last 0.1%. Thanks for the award, reward, it feels good to know when you’ve connected.

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