The Grand Desert Calypso

“The Grand Desert Calypso”

He holds my arm back

From a strong sprint

The prancing gaslights

His berry-eyed glint

 

The saints of Arcadia

A candid serenity

Don’t talk back, boy

Are you my enemy?

 

So from whom do I run

On the Grand Desert Calypso?

The tumbleweeds ceased their cries,

and the drink chills the hows, the whos, the whys

 

He grasps tightly, now

On my tender skin

His eyes sweet berries

But his words, they stun and dim

 

So from what do I run

On the Grand Desert Calypso?

It’s a dance with no season

We’re evil without reason

Can I run, dear? Please, let me run, dear.

 

And you dance like a vulture

My beauty breaks my skin

Harlots decaying culture

Town shadows we’re dying in

 

So, I’m sorry. Just know I tried.

I howed, I whoed, I whyed.

I sifted for gold and found broken bones.

The river and its fever ran back to the river in my eyes, streaming down.

They cut me open and fell in, on that stardusty path that brought us here.

Don’t you see?

 

So from whom do I run

On the Grand Desert Calypso?

His fingertips slip

Leaving cascades of hurt

The burnt gaslight

I embrace the best. The worst.

Melanie Falconer is a freelance writer and editor living in Los Angeles, California. Her writing mainly concerns philosophy, personal experiences, cultural commentary, and her love of the visual and performing arts. If you’d like to reach out to her, you can do so here.

 

 

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