The Reason For This Evening’s Tailback

Deathly onyx cold,
When the layering curse returns,
As it always will and still unfolds,
Ravenous, his satiation made
Impossible, implausible,
Bringing new brocaded covers
With images of his solace
Although its story is well told,
I then become cold to my bones
And proximity is no requisite
For shivering from his grimacing
Chtonic, unobvious presence,
Timeless and with flashing teeth
On gums of gangrene and mould.

In this grim palace
A choice is not a choice,
Any meaning is void
And made obtuse,
Made meaningless;
Debased, your imagination
Weighed the same as gold,
Which he bought, and
Which he melted to
Gild the dumbstruck throats
Of statues in his home.

Unwilling guest, dreaded party,
I had torn up his red invitation
But a taxi arrived regardless.
Now I am bound with his
Interminable shadows
While he plays a consummate host,
Debonair, with silverware,
He spins on a cane of liquified hope
And this bleak trope is complete,
Gone with all cares,
They were strafed from wastelands
And in his darkness I grope for
The one way home,
That one truth path
He scattered within
A million mascarading bluffs.

It would be akin
To climbing back in
To the belly of a dragon
Having seen the knight
From within eviscerate,
Daylight sharply juxtaposed
Between swordtip and entrails
As he slices me out.
No, life, sunshine, heroes,
No you don’t.
Put me back on the shelf,
On the bleak rib and distral ropes
Where gastric flames
Did many a stronger man well-roast
And more so, yes, than me.

So, then, these true happenings
(With heavy heart I am re-telling)
Are made manifest
In men driving their many cars,
(Cars they keep on selling),
Parked by central reservations –
Early evening drifting snow –
Tailbacks ensuing,
Vows for renewing,
And with nowhere left,
Nowhere left to go.

2 thoughts on “The Reason For This Evening’s Tailback

  1. I said “wow” out loud after reading this line: “Which he melted to/Gild the dumbstruck throats/Of statues in his home.” It was my first reaction to the extraordinary imagery that created such a profound intensity of mood, and of the sheer originality and creativity to conjure up such a thing. So evil and creepy and doom-foreshadowing. I also loved the way I felt the (temporary) heat of it after that incredible opening line in which I immediately felt the cold, black stone.

    I like that you don’t name the “he” that you are personifying, though anyone who has been summoned to the function knows. I especially like that through it all, through these painted scenes, beneath it all, you are describing what depression is like. I think that is so important, to educate, to attempt to explain. And to use analogy is almost essential to bridge the gaps between experience and non-experience.

    Fascinating conclusion to bring it all around to the traffic jam, the red taillights headed nowhere…

    What a spectacular piece. It both resonated with me and also took me to another chamber I’ve never been. I think sometimes, each invitee, although all at the same event, are all devilishly secluded amongst the chambers that shift and never end like those intentionally misleading paths home.

    Ben fatto, Nicolas Nesta! Sei il mio scrittore preferito!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m sorry I didn’t reply sooner. Thank you so much for your time and your insight. I wanted to bring the internal and metaphysical into an explanation of the everyday. I feel like too often societally there is a lack of depth of understanding as to certain events or actions, and with a judgment then attached. I don’t mean that as a critique of the observer, but an observation in itself.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s