Excalibur, For Real

The quill. The page.
The playwright takes the stage.
You twist, you dance Cartesian twirls,
You leap, you land, you strike your pose—
Tada! A perfect ten!

At curtain call we’re walking side by side
I always yearn to keep you close at hand
And always find I’m craving more and more…
For every door abuts a wall behind
and every wall conceals another door.

I’ve whispered ancient verses now and then
As wards against the corpse-limp day to day,
My voice a feline hum against your throat…
I trace it back to ‘17
The lobster god, the three-prong king—

Lo! I call upon thee, scarlet writ—
Let light electric dance within our hearts!
Let rivers run from eye to mind to hand!

I’ll sound the horn! I’ll ring the bell!
Let every tongue I have extol
An end to all this plastic tat—
The once and future commissar’s return—
My love—
The resurrection carapace—
And you, the blood and bone that keeps me standing tall!