Promethean Powerhouse


A theft this is, of an • ideal by a thesis pilfered, depiction’s • vindictive influence on its indifferent audience • squandered just to see how being • abusive of purchased power over an • illusion feels, here, the crime’s dim-lit • scene, some place noir betwixt the • marquee’s play of whordes and the • alleyway its letters entice with last • ditch efforts to resurrect the vanquished • interest of nocturnal scholars whose filth • their quick studies languidly used to • walk, not much to say, nothing • about which to even talk, only • watch, too jaded by too many • instances of gratification instantly bought to • be at all shocked, neglected messages • mix, no longer resist time’s inevitable • damage to glamour, death-caresses and moth-kisses • fluoresce breaths of dust against bulbs • of flesh incandescent enough that souls • within can be glimpsed by pests • flickering intimate imitations of grace, deviating • from their paths of light their • flights trace so as to gravitate • toward their wrong mates, neon haloes • lilting by solar power after dark, • every night obsolescence nears completion of • its circuit, its end built-in, their • filaments’ cinematic dénouements moments nearer their • runtimes’ anticipated completion, this masquerade of • stars constellating what fails translation, two • constants hurling haughty words in the • throes, continents divided by consonants, Britain • and America divorced in Paris, these • bulbs bloomed into shards, were turned • off, projected onto blank walls which • rejected repeated images, by always pursuing • the same heart whose pulse only • one sentiment could thrive on, the • pulling out of the chord it • •


plucked let loose what choking up • had stuck shut, this valve’s portal • between chambers these lovers fought in • was the floor its tale fell • through to tell, this theatre that • Promethean powerhouse where thieves and merchants • dwell, at the crossroads of truth • and consequences where liars meet, here • in their last hour together those • cheats in the cheap seats applauded • the marauders least likely to leave • lest their drama be left unseen, • searing obscenities of names aflame with • envy defamed each the other’s deeds • in so public a place that • even the projectionist needed a break, • putting on as either was airs • too foul to face, soured glances • and strutting paces wasting a way • to interpret this duel of two • volatile volunteers to their martyrdom raced, • sacrificial torment its own reward as • toward the stage door this doomed • couple poured, spilling forth æther enough • to burn a hole in the • glass cages they wore, and so • it was those notable for holding • onto themselves as hermits do torches • came to torch this hole into • a mess of spirits together worse • than either before was, their fuss • our loss of the source of • this district’s red light, its Promethean • powerhouse shrouded now by curtains of • night, unassailable now that wails pierce • what mysterious trail of rubble sin’s • avails and profitable troubles’ purple veils • once awaited with delight, ever hopeful, • still, our desires will follow us • elsewhere to offer cheaper thrills and • sweeter sights than we had here.