Cocktails in a Well Lit Room by Bob MacKenzie All the darkness, packaged in ceramic shells by unknown hands so long ago as Midgard to some certain future, hides in Trojan eggs, rides on mannequins, waits to broach some foreseen gates but goes unseen as brilliance rises from the pit and poltergeist, unknown by me, you take from my table; you toss what you take; you take from my table; you toss what you take; you hope the egg will break - all the darkness prematurely spilling, hatching, not some Dark Phoenix but a cuddly yellow chick - all the darkness packaged in ceramic shells remains: not flooding, filling the pit with ink or whatever, although some cracks do appear and somewhere, not too far, I hear the creaking, ancient gates begin to open. |