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She Stands in Pallor (rewrite)

She stands in pallor; veils black and scarlet adorn her in homage to Valentino. That Italian, whose death marked the mid-point of the 1920’s, that decade of freedom, defiance, the Scopes Trial, and the Leopold and Loeb murder. Valentino, who had made the tango infamous and given sensuality to the Middle East on celluloid, had broken the mold of star and created a supernova of sorts. How she would have wept at his funeral, if she had been alive in those days! What would she have given to be clasped in his arms as he rocked her in dance athis peak of life! And all she had of him was flickering images and silver photographs, shining like windows into an inviting glade forbidden to her. 
And, all she had of love was her soul mate, though second fiddle to Valentino, Noah. He had come to the grave site, dressed as crisply as Rudolph might have been. His sandy hair and blue eyes are notdark as Valentino’s, but his virility is unquestionable to her. This mourning for her beloved icon marked th…

She Stands in Pallor

She stands in pallor; veils black and scarlet adorn her in homage to Valentino. That Italian, whose death marked the mid-point of the 1920’s, that decade of freedom, defiance, the Scopes Trial, and the Leopold and Loeb murder. Valentino, who had made the tango infamous and given sensuality to the Middle East on celluloid, had broken the mold of star and created a supernova of sorts. How she would have wept at his funeral, if she had been alive in those days! What would she have given to be clasped in his arms as he rocked her in dance at his peak of life! And all she had of him was flickering images and silver photographs, shining like windows into an inviting glade forbidden to her. 
And, all she had of love was her soul mate, though second fiddle to Valentino, Noah. He had come to the grave site, dressed as crisply as Rudolph might have been. His sandy hair and blue eyes were not as Valentino’s, but his virility is unquestionable to her. This mourning for her beloved icon marked thei…

Latest poems

Clockman 
Where is your glove, oh, Sally, my dear? Queried the wizard while drawing so near I’ve lost my glove! It’s help that I need That you may have but you will work for me
And when the clock stops at midnight, I’ll creep into your room; and when you’re asleep  I’ll carry you away because you forgot  I’ll spirit you out, wanted or not
And with magic yarn, you’ll crochet stars But they will fade away if lying you are  Stars are bright and how they can soothe;  you will lose them all if you don’t tell the truth!
I may come again when you are asleep; You never know when or where I may creep
.....
Boundaries become conceptual; Can I borrow your nachos? Friendship becomes meaningful; Can I borrow those clothes? 
There is no you that I can see; But you reflecting parts of me
..... 
There were beaches in Australia
Too much Kitsch in the vodka Ironic gathering observed Biding my hours  while waiting for

Tuesday

Today was okay. I am in my mid-thirties. I am loved more than I deserve to be. In my quest for meaning, my mind twists itself into folds and that makes life harder than it needs to be. Life is its own meaning in its liveliness. 

Sometimes, when I walk into a restaurant, like I did tonight, I marvel that it is being run so well. I am glad that others are doing good things. Despite all the dystopian fantasies and zombie apocalypses being dreamed up, the world hums with order. I want to embrace order and liveliness every day.