Strange Days

During moments of silent reflection
A raven soaks up the light in my eyes
As though a black bakers bona fide confection
Warming up to where temperatures rise
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The heat, a blistering reminder
Of novels and strange creations gone by
Squared off doorways and cowarding crevices
In which the Ice Man hides amid charcoal cries
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The black is blocked by dark bathroom towels
And sweat river-rolls upside downways
With doorways bleeding into Beelzebub's bowels
So Sophocles can sing of those Strange Days
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Strange Days in deep purple obligations
Siphoned through the rinds that materialize
As oozing obstacles writhing through complications
When will the black angels realize
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That Strange Days
Are the fog in our eyes
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That Strange Days
Are symphonically perfect
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That Strange Days
Are the ultimate doorways
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That Strange Days
Lead the way back home...

Tony Taylor