A shame descends upon The Stranger
Who lingers, follows, obsessed with images
Of you— The darling creature that walks lonely
In the morning, afternoon and evening’s clutches.
The beauty that is ugly without an eye to behold her
Has stricken her face with storied blemishes.
The carnal desire of acquisition coldly
And calmly rises and bows as The Stranger watches
YOU. The Stranger shuffles behind in steps with ether;
Odorless matter. Consuming, blushing, with luscious flashes
Creep into the falling body, cursing all that is holy—
Now in the hands of silent ashes.
Still, be still, wait for nothing to appear,
The fate of your blue head darkens and clashes
With the warmth of the hands that feather
His heart— like death; Bound with stitches.
It is YOU to fear as an unearthly memory of the meager
Beauty; a devastated obsession. The suspended night finishes
With the weight of an inhaled hush— that slowly
tingles just before The Stranger’s light diminishes.
~ Charlotte Newman