Bleeding for the Dancer

I looked over the filthy rainbow
into a world of inversion
of beautiful dust, vibrant decay,
luminescent shadows.

Heard melodious creeks,
harmonious screams.
Touched gentle razors,
tasted delectable rot,

smelled wondrous death.

I followed to the very end,
to the golden reflection and
took in all the reversion/aversion:

faded adornment, eroding vitality,
diffused light,  shrieking music,
dissonant voices, cutting genteelities,
spoiled pleasures, meaningless life.

Rainbows are best left in the dark.

4.5.11