Sunday, February 22, 2015

Burlesque



Popcorn cannot forgive
laughter on contact,
joints ceramic without a net.

Go ahead, mock the crush,
call it acting, your clown hands
numb to the sting.

Odd burlesque in a dark ring.
Abrahamic slapstick.
No audience.  No applause.

I sleep on the unbruised side,
lock the dressing room door
dream of crossing the tightrope, a star.



tk/February 2015



A sensitive read by R.A.D. ...






23 comments:

  1. "Odd burlesque in a dark ring Abrahamic slapstick.
    No audience. No applause." Wow!

    I love the odd and freakish side of old burlesque shows this brought back to me Tess. <3

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  2. This is nice. I like the bruised yet numb aspect to it. Numb because of the dream of better things or numb because they are too tired to care? I'll have to think on it.

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  3. Sleeping on the non-bruised side.. that's a disturbing image, as much as the no audience.. life is not easy if we can't walk the tightrope.

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  4. intense ................especially the last three lines....

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  5. It is a giant Cosmic Joke , and it is on us , i am afraid , Wolfmother ......

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  6. I don't know how should I give you thanks! I am totally stunned by your article. You saved my time. Thanks a million for sharing this article.

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  7. Each word shows how struggling life is. Very well done.

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  8. love the thrill and the twist

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  9. Life ~ balancing act in the extreme. I enjoyed this, Tess.

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  10. intense and intriguiing!! lovely take on the prompt!

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  11. Ah yes, and we cannot forget popcorn, or eating it while walking the tightrope of life!

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  12. Performance can be painful

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  13. Beautifully tense......I can almost feel my feel on the rope.........

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  14. I simply loved the description!.
    Well written!

    Cheers

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  15. I simply loved the description!.
    Well written!

    Cheers

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  16. Always a star in our dreams.

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  17. The last stanza squeezes the gut and tightens the throat....

    My Magpie entry

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  18. Your words are intense and deep....loved it :-)

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Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)