by Peter Magliocco

Now rouse the dawn from treasured lips

of my vanished Madonna turned to whore,

& bring night to her altered from

 

Far from the bustle of your modern mecca

skyline frosted by skyscraper hills

Spider-Man scales minus nets

 

I wait to throw tortured remnants

of once beautiful disbelievers

into traffic’s maul below:

 

Will time & the Oculus plunder

the desert’s sea of concrete

to claim my limbo offering

 

& beckon my hatching wings display

true colors of god’s hidden dream

(flying sideways in unconscious states?)

 

Then pick the real vista of our desire,

& banish your cheating virtual vixen

luring lost love to forbidden websites.