A swirled and colorful dancer holds and indelibly inks
the forearm of the changed man – “Holy Christ” shouts
from his balcony window – and his smile shows the
color of his teeth while his hands slide back and forth
tracing the outlines of victory.
The room smells of spice and freshly poured beer and
the lingers are all gone. The drapes roll and part and
the night air thrills to take part breathing in what was
once disdainful to the changed man, who sits like a
king or an angel beaming.
And then the beckons beckon mountains to crumble in
sandboxes, rivers to trickle from faucets, and temptation
to knock like an ambassador at the door…and the haunts
and the familiar people who lived in them return to rile
and torture the changed man.