City Scylla

The sullen city Scylla
Sat strident ‘cross the bay
Lured inexorably there
To awaken the beast
Dwelling in fragrant yesterdays
Of teenage augured angst
Smelted by manhood
On pyres of lament
And cast into moulds
Shaped by calloused testimony
Yet rejected as Monday morning refuse

This sacrificial isolation
Retarded in its design
Conjuring illusions of opulence
While falling on its own sword
Bleeding into a pauper’s bowl
Staggering through solitary inebriation
And the familiar tang of aromatic failure
Like ammonia in the eyes
Hangs on rusty interludes
That scrape away the layers
Of dirty, pilfered romance

The city lures with tangled trawling lines
Wrapping geriatric disbelief
In blankets of whitewashed memory
While breathing gregarious supposition
And bearing self-flagellated injustice
This cinematic interaction
Drives home cradled misfortune
In taxis of hailed love
Deconstructed in an instant
And raked over burning years
Of persecution and unaccompanied tragedy.

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