Sex and Murder Magazine

By Eric Kenron

Remember me when you are lost
in the masquerade of night,
Amidst the famous façades
and in the houses that keep their secrets.

This is the juxtaposition of us:
you and I and tumbleweeds,
Shadows and sand.
We are schizophrenics of the flesh.

And now the serious daring begins,
with a full moon face and false courage.
Let us seek the secret chambers
where the naked maiden muses rise from cacti wombs

Across the plastic deserts
we must burden our backs
With our most fearsome thoughts
and suffer the roadside attractions.

Our tracks across the shifting sands mark our past five minutes back;
after and before, our history is dunes.
The smell of yesterday is like sand in our eyes
and our memories trickle away.

We shun the sledgehammer light of day,
cowering in each others’ shadow.
Shivering through the bright-eyed night we burn pages from the books we brought
For we can go no further as we are.

The sands of the desert are restless in the wind,
the dunes change places
Cavorting with the storms,
but the desert remains itself.

Your thoughts may change,
conflict and cancel
And your desires shift at whim,
but your purpose must remain.

On the silver ribbon path, will you remember me?
At the hour of your unfolding, will you remember me?
In the house of Grandmother Death, will you?