Grim Images
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From the edge, I see
A progression of revolving faces
Swirled in smoke from a thousand
Fragmented rooms…
Faces that overwhelm these
Breathed-through walls
With a satisfied perplexity…
My heart races for
A face that withdraws
From this scene
Where shades of doubt
Drape walls of fear
In a seemingly distant
Rapport of rapturous souls…
In my mind, I am not there;
I am not part of a loving pair
In these rooms that are bracketed and bare.
Amid this revolution of Friday night faces
Prepared for such perplexity,
I scan each horizon to scale
And move into a new, but
Not too distant corner,
Looking back in self-dismay
To a day when rooms
Will be satisfactorily peopled,
And I, less symbolically arranged.