Featured art by Neil Krug
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Ladytron “Mirage”
That all too familiar mist
Just as skies were brightening
Just as grip was tightening
Around the tree of life again
That all too familiar twist in my gut
As beginnings are cut
To show willing no end
Could it be that living really is a mere misgiving to pretend
I believe in fairy tales
In never ceasing prairie trails
In fail-safe smiles
Which stretch for miles
In setting sail across pale seas
To paint in living colour
Every solitary shade I bleed
If only to console the waves receding
Seeping through the cracks in tears I track to clear arrears
Keeping every soul forsaken rapture
Through the years
Pioneering souvenirs of every rising spear I faced
To smear ill-timed campaign devised to chide me
Bind me
Blind me
Find me sinking without trace
Embrace the squinting waves
With wide eyes
Breach the tide
Beseeching faith
To leap
To strafe
The hollow of each sorrow in my wake
That all too familiar mist
Creeping once again
Just as skies were weeping kind and grace
Just as I inclined towards abiding wrack and scathe
Just as I felt justified in testifying blindest faith
Suddenly, the earth beneath my surging feet gave way
down
down
down
To yet another time and place
Howbeit, not a scene I’m keen to meet and greet
Much less even conceive of entertaining
Should I be seen
Believed
Then maybe I can dream the dream that reams and reams of screaming nightmares chased away
I believe each day parades as masquerade of sorts
A grand renaissance costume ball
And free-for-all by all accounts
So keen on keeping headcount
Ill-prepared to stick our necks out
That we proceed straight to checkout
In Venetian masks and dress gowns
Corsets ever tightening
Divorcing from the air we breathe
Siphoning the arteries of hearts that very barely beat
To keep up the charade
And play the same game that the wicked play
Every day the same
An aweless masquerade
Midst unfamiliar mist
The skies are brightening
My grip around the tree of life is tightening again
Showing no willing to end
Bereft misgiving to pretend
In timeless drift of sift and bend
For I believe in fairy tales again
In never ceasing prairie trails
In fail-safe smiles
Which stretch for miles
In setting sail across pale seas
To paint in living colour
It is going to be a long hot searing summer
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill


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