The Phantoms

Here they come, on they go,

One by one, in a row,

misanthropic phantoms

Drifting by me on the street...

snuffed candelabrums….

No warmth to meet…

Incense del Dia de Muertos

evanesced from the vigil,

Gregarious as gargoyles

to greet

Whilst they all a waltzin’ thru my peripheral

Yet always on their passin’ but a chill I feel,

All secrets hushed and skeletons concealed;

A brood of bad bananas, rude & unpeeled…

Where’ve you been?

Where’d you dwell?

Bless me your heaven.

Confess me your hell.

I yearn to turn you over like a stone,

Cruise your e’ery crevice, flesh ‘n’ bone;

Kick down the catacomb,

a floriferous frisson

Up your pithless spine

to startle your tomb

W/ a sunflower bloom;

Veins fomented for the finest wine

to flow;

Drawing agape the dreary drape

‘til we’re both aglow,

Grinnin’ happy-go-lucky like children again

Lavished in the light of Lothlorien,

once latent,

Now incandescent in the distance...

And when we’ve basked

Our fill of social sustenance,

Our souls exquisite as bloodstones

and its subsequent dookie

Buried in the kitty litter of time,

Let’s make like Mickey and Mallory Knox,

Freed from society’s sepulchral pantomime,

And hop the next train

right out of town,




About the Author

Vincent Vecchio

Vincent Vecchio is an on-and-off again writer from Vancleave, Mississippi.

Read more work by Vincent Vecchio.