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Should you ever wonder

Where the falling drops of rain

are coming from;

It’s just a dream

you strayed unwonted,

Where my heart there thunders

With the fury of longing

To feel you.

My desires never washed away

in-spite of torrential devastations

Whom one would think

This passion cannot be;

Yet, still…it stands firmly,

untainted and blemish free.

It will never suffer consequences,

or others ill-intended curses

of willful rot and slow of gloom’s decay.

Should you ever feel the rain,

It is only me.

Laying firmly, while tapping rain drops dance with your reflection;

Stealing glances all the while,

Of you in my conjured path;

No sorrow, not even pain,

It is only me, forever and ever,

Should you ever feel the rain.

::Epictusz Salvatore::

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audience participation

Last night. “A volunteer from the crowd?” murmured a croaky voice with a smile that bled through the dark. She stood up, a little too quickly, a little too ready to succumb to the sacrifice. That, she remembers. Let her smoke-filled lungs breathe under the blinding spotlight.

Now. The cherry pits leak red into the closed palms of her hands as she rattles the melting ice in her glass. An orange tree branch dipping into foamless waters, honey skin melting in the tide. She sits back onto the burnt grass, letting purple Chinese shadows dance on her closed eyelids. Time stretches out

the

Loose

String

of her fishnets from the night before. The same blinding light. The same vague shapeless shadows, taunting her from afar, gnawing at her bones. The same disaccord of light striping her eyes.

The stage light, the gunned golden lacquered sun of her southern childhood, was thudding against her cherry-stained, wine-stained cheeks. She opened its parlor doors and let the smoke of its colorless memories edge into her mind. Whistles in the dark. Bills itching her skin like burnt grass.

She could almost hear it again: A volunteer from the crowd? A chronic daydream that latches onto nightmares.

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Knock, knock, knock

On the wooden block.

A death beat. Robed in gray,

Shifu sending soul away.

Palms coated gold and silver

Pressed together in prayer.

Chanting that drones,

That groans, that stills my bones.

Troublemaker ensemble.

A frantic flurry of song.

Of wailing. Of drum. Of cymbal.

A kneeling silhouette, withdrawn.

And then the cursed suona blares—

A censored string of swears.

Still she sleeps

With a pearl between her lips;

When the noise stops I take a bow.

A kowtow.

When the noise stops I hear my heart beat.

A death beat.

Utter defeat.

— V.O. (2019). Wake.

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I let you go because you wouldn’t let up on me, pressing the air out of my lungs. I needed to breathe freely. I hoped for a clean cut but you wouldn’t give up easily. It wasn’t that you were fighting for me, it was that you were fighting for dominance over me. I got free despite your furious flurry of accusations and manipulations. You wanted me to keep an open mind so you could occupy mine. I was blind for too long but now I see your true colors. All the red flags behind me blaze a trail leading to you. But it’s okay, at least I got away. Changed lanes from the speed trap I flew down with you to a slower, steadier pace. Found my way back to healing, helped along by people who know how to love.

Highway from Hell