“Seasons of Dread”

“Seasons of Dread”

Express the phantom.

Knead yourself. Right there.

Do memories of rivers open now?

Or are we still discussing the usual waterfall?

Crème brûlée, as long as the spigots are open.

Creme blue,

the gases released.

There must be another doorway.

Sit still in a dark room.

Stare at a blank wall.

In time, the colors change.

Relax to tangle your thoughts.

Enter another doorway.

Another doorway grows still.

Mold grows on the trim of another.

Are we still discussing this?

Please finish.

Lock the deadbolt.

Pull down the chains.

Let the chairs drop.

Massage the chopping block.

It’s time to give the seasons

to the hungry scarecrow.

He’s starved souls.

He lights the tails of devils

to smoke firecrackers

while dancing on the roof

until morning.

Express the problem,

but it doesn’t make you feel better.

It only lasts as long as a cigarette.

Find me in the hallway.

This museum is too beautiful

in the dollhouse.

I’m in love with the drapes,

tablecloths,

everything surrounding me

in your absence.

Abscesses throb on the walls.

Did you expect to release

the phosphorescent streets?

They release you into a rubber room

to tell you that you haven’t been listening,

you can’t survive,

there’s no choice but to relax

the gun muscle

and muzzles know barbwire flowers

because bliss is an acid train

because the beating wings tunneling

of a moth in distress

we’ll die covered in dust

but glue could put us back together.

We need repairs

worse than your favorite toy.

We need to outlast the batteries.

Our town has grown too artificially hot.

The masks no longer fit

to disguise us.

The attraction to the rubber animals

has worn off.

Tails of eels spell your name

in endless circles

spiraling back

a beckoning frost touch.

Tags: Nicholaus Patnaude, poem, Seasons of Dread