Sometimes one is fooled by stillness
into thinking this place is infused by spirits
and a higher power’s transcendence.
Solitude as charade, enhanced by the smell of
waving censers, clouds of holy aroma
dispersed as someone enters from the rear.
A chalice fills with blood as votive smoke,
one large word balloon, rises toward rafters.
I hide among regulars, a sinner pretending,
lost in thought, trying to undo life’s tangles.
I imagine a short run to liberty.
Beside quickened heartbeat’s echoes,
no earthly trace of what went before,
no hungry mouths to feed or provide for,
merely an illusion of heavenly do-over,
a sweet oasis from this burning desert,
away from constricting yokes
that tie me to a daily burden
of blessedly deadened existence.
Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist, living in Bedford, New York. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) is available through Amazon, as is a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press). His next collection, Worth the Candle, is forthcoming from Five Oaks Press.
Deep Water Literary Journal
2017 - Issue 1 - February