The House of Djinn

seldom do you come to this place but we remember you. surfacing at random -
to odd applause and all the gaudy paradigms at your betrothal.
wed to the mark of sugar cane. you sustain your incomparable vigil
on a toadstool in a cuckoo’s nest…
shackled to a Fae
sunset.
Like a dime to
a lost deal.
I have seen your moons. crumpled in the disarray of lost orbits
tunneling through the miasma of an imperfect rebellion made of plump lips -
and applesauce.
a golden blue atrocity, unvanquished by a spot
of False Hope… on a speck of Real Life.
you have a temple to attend to.
you have all the
harm of sleep.
too alive to recover a memory.
and too forgetful to
recall.