Where A God Sleeps

At the end of the day,
standing before a shut window―
in fear of power game
under a cataract of twilight.

A panther had visited
again at night in your courtyard―
to sniff out the
hidden moons.

Your ism was on fire.
Logic gone. The weird neighbors
had become bedfellows.

A dirty war will ensue
between the translation and
original script, in fake
and real.

You slap a drum. Pathos.
I have reached where I
did not want to.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

no one really wins power games...treaties are better...i am especially blown away by..."under a cataract of twilight"----
i like how you brought in logic and pathos....there is an ethos in this...in the original script...but when we deviate from that...some of the impromptu lines and actions will lead us where we did not want to go...but where we might find...that the beat of a different drum is a really good one for us.
love this piece...
so smart and cleverly "scripted"---
j.