the old vaudevillian

[Billy]

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

[Michael (MV)]

 
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



 
 
 
 
 
 

[Billy]

thanks, Michael, I've used your suggestions.

[iowaboy99]

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.