the old vaudevillian (revision)
in flames
he licks frosting
from a spoon
in streets
wailing his name
to the heavens
sleeves flying
in wind like wings
of a crippled bird
flapping in agony
like dust-filled
drapes the color
of dried blood
his ragged velvet
flesh falling on stages
of empty theatres
built centuries ago
the old vaudevillian
the devil licks frosting
from a spoon
stands in the street
yelling his name
to the heavens
sleeves flying
in the wind like wings
of a crippled bird
flapping in agony
like dust-filled
drapes the color
of dried blood
falling clumps
of flesh on the stage
of an empty theatre
built over a century ago
the old vaudevillian
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Re: the old vaudevillian
Hi Billy,
an image of decadence - vanitas
workshop illustrated Michael (MV)
the devil licks frosting
off a spoon
stands in the street
wailing his name
to the heavens
sleeves flailing
in the wind - wings
of a fallen bird
flapping in agony
like dust-filled
curtains the color
of dried blood
flesh crumbles on stage
in the empty theatre
built over centuries
Re: the old vaudevillian
thanks, Michael, I've used your suggestions.
Re: the old vaudevillian
hmm. It seems overwrought and predetermined to me. Too many expectations fulfilled. wailing his name / to the heavens. Why wailing and why to the heavens? I wish it were somehow more personalized. The opening line suggests a very individual devil--one that we have never seen before. The rest of the poem seems to fall into the good ol' devil we have come to love and detest.
t.o.
t.o.