THE HOLLYWOOD RAGE PAGE

We may not speak in poetry But we feel in poetry Especially when  we make guest appearances in dreams featuring every age we’ve ever been. when we yearned for the love that we lost Or when we reach out For a fistful of pillow Or skim along a lake In an old wooden rowboat That forgot its wings Dressed in nothing more Than, the formality of cobwebs and an ancient morning jacket made of dew

It begins with the forecast of our disposition. Which we depend on Like the bedtime reading of Goodnight Moon. Then without warning the world betrays you like your friends did When they disappeared without explanation. Time reverses its course And you are suddenly hell-bent for the asylum of childhood. The Stargazer Lilies become unforgivable. Che gelida manina intolerable And your heart begins to suffocate Like Desdemona at the hands of the one who loved her most Despite your cries of anguish And the last-ditch effort of Hail Mary prayers It starts to rain bricks Like a biblical curse Which like the early stages of Jenga Seems manageable  until the Unforgiving decide to accelerate this  game of the Gods And entomb you beneath the stacks Like tomorrow When we will watch her fade away With no assurance from the moon As the snowflakes fall Like a flurry of epilogues And covers every name That is etched in stone.