markbousfield

[The scene is set, the cadaver is brought to the theatre, the surgeon prowls with murderous intent, scalpels and tongs and syringes in her claws. A band of gypsy musicians, two violas, a cello, and a penny whistle skulk in the blood stained extremities of the room playing discordant ditties, cloaked in ever darkening shadows the patient stirs from death. Each cut of the witches blade bleeds a spectrum of radiance on to the theatre floor, aghast the ghouls start their jaunty jig]

Amidst the gore and splatter
the surgeon of rainbows and blood soup
cut deep a wound of mindless chatter,
it seeped through her in(de)cision,
red,
orange,
it rained and ran and spilled effortlessly,
it embargoed time,
it slid with such earnest reverence for the dead.

Pulsing,
hammering,
blues and greens,
an epistemological nuance,
Cleo's eyes gleaned in gold behind the mask,
the cloth mask.

Effortless

Spirited

My blood makes a departure,
with my tannin hung as a canvas on the wall,

effortless

effortless

effortless.

Plucked by the gloved hand
bohemia calls me.
I am awash with it's colour,
it's darkness in my skin,
weeping in the focussed eyes of the surgeon,
in the heated glow of the scalpel,
dissonance,
playtime,
the game of let's pretend,

T E H CUNTS