
A beautiful blue sky, white picket fences,
perfect red roses sway elegant in the breeze,
a serene perfect suburban American dream,
all is tea and serenity, all is still blue velvet,
just an accident or trauma away from chaos,
delving into undergrowth, deeper, deeper,
through grass and silk and revenge we see
endless violent struggle of disgusting beetles,
crawling ravenous, eating each other,
wild pain and decay, a perfect metaphor.
An enormous red moon yearns for answers,
a perfect fairy pink fog hangs in the air,
a witch flies cackling Wizard Of Oz dreams,
a boy caught in the wardrobe, watching,
a man gasps oxygen to give life exuberance,
on stage the spotlight shines on a singer,
her song is surreal, profound and ethereal,
a white horse stands where the singer longed,
shifting identities, moods and moments,
we are just damn fine coffee and cherry pie.
At a house party someone gets uncomfortably
close, whispers, I’m in your house right now.
In a bedroom a woman is tormented by
small creatures that look like humans, uncanny,
a cowboy waits, Bob appears in the house,
a terrifying apparition, a dread spirit, a death,
ambiguous surrealism and ominous foreboding,
the look on Laura’s face of sadness and despair,
gives way to overwhelming relief, catharsis,
freedom falling, falling, silencio, silencio.
by Peter Devonald