FICTION | POETRY | NONFICTION | ART | REVIEWS
With his luminous eyes and
His look of hunger
It is not from the lack of food
But of beauty torn asunder
To him all things must be beautiful
He kneels at beauty's feet
He would rather smell a lovely rose
Than dine on bread and meat
All things ugly are to him
A deep and dreaded mortal sin
He searches for beauty everywhere
Even on a harlots sinful stare
He sees in her worldly wicked pose
A lonely soul whom no one knows
But he
And he knows that she would like to be
An innocent girl with her mother again
Far away from the lusts of men
He sees beneath that gruesome painted mask
A bleeding heart from the body's task
A soul imprisoned in a body of foul decay
This he sees and more
He's always searching for the calm
Perfection of beauty
But that he cannot find — Yes
He is very hungry — but
It is not the belly kind
Aimee Brooks was a writer, flapper,
barefoot ballet dancer, and model.
Violette and Aimee
Dwelling on a strand
Of a tropic island
Down in Nonsense Land.
Whiled away the hours
Solving anagrams;
Knitting gaudy mittens
For the infant clams.
Feasted upon dainties
Fit for any queen;
A Baboon named Oscar
Was chef de cuisine.
The chef's Uncle Elmer
Daily brought the mail,
Riding cowboy fasion
On a piebald whale.
Flying fish came calling
In red tights and spats,
Claiming to be king-pins
Of aerial acrobats.
Mermaids in the moonlight
Danced a minuet;
Mournful because sailors
Are so hard to get.
Murmur of the sea waves
Weaving to and fro,
Was the village choir
And its radio.
Violette and Aimee
Dwelling on a strand
Of a tropic island
Down in Nonsense Land.
THE NEW
RULES OF
W R I T I N G
ISSUE:
S P R I N G
2011
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