Michael Brandonisio

The Blue Death of a White Rose

There are things unseen behind smokescreens
The penny drops on the fault line
The ecumenical council goes on hiatus
I am a man kissing the universal
Nobody around here does that in full view
There is always something invisible
About the visible I slip on a mask
A scowling face in the back
Of a basement sex club I stand
Alone denuded surrounded by rats
With money to burn and
People to manipulate
These rats turned swine perform occult
Medical experiments that come to naught
Yet engender bushels of lucre
Naked victim here now I am a dead man
Watching the blue death of a white rose
And after a pause the white rose reemerges
From a gold hued sarcophagus
Reborn this white rose dances on old feet
Dervishes into Isadora Duncan unleashed
She possesses magikal ointments and
Speaks in soft tones –
Sail on Odysseus sail on
Westward to the Azores on a glass ocean
Where perfumed whores await you
With white roses burning in their hands

Plastic Godhead Meets Saint Notorious

Good heavens a very good Fellini-type
meets an electronic minstrel with
some grains of truth
Plastic Godhead and Saint Notorious
They were talking about
a new method school of socio-religio
It suits them
They believe it
It’s credible
On to the isolation network
and then on to something else
Very much two all-American boys
gone south in the head
wanting the plastic image
returning to the plas-tic image
the enigma of indifference
with everything blurred
It was them together inside
a tomb-like womb feeling
the crack-up entwined
within a Frank Sin-a-tra la-la-la thing
significant to strangers in the night

The Spirit of George Orwell

Poet, photographer and visual artist, Michael Brandonisio's creative output has previously appeared in Otoliths and other fine lit/art journals. He currently lives in Brooklyn, NY. He occasionally entertains reveries about living in Switzerland.
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