Stanley Pelter

as a last noise fades

curtains rise on repeat acts

the play starts again

 

thin line of light on lowest part of upper lip

block of mid blue sky through part open attic window

toes of one foot push into an unusual place

down deep where a furnace glows hottest

personal values scream towards a room of deaf wrestlers

waiting their turn in The Listening Room

cream inside sore legs of hot painting positions

built of sounds mysterious houses do impossibles like Humpty Dumpty who pays words more when he makes them work harder

skimpy moon in a shadowless dusk highlighting a bare thigh

reflecting inside a water butt of colours only just imagined

softness of a succulent prawn that tastes slobbery in a ritual feast

ritual circumcision of sewn-up labia

curtains creaking closed in front of fashions designed for rituals

invasion of live dog legs ritually cooked

sudden ritual under The Museum of a Night

empty face that still controls ritual eye keys to what lies beyond

strange sensations from mixing aporia with rituals

purged by resurrecting even more unsettling rituals

spotting rituals that reign supreme

like illusion explored as in “the word ‘dog’ doesn’t bite”

unexpected ritual answers to an unexpected subversive intent

 

false lit theatre

          left behind on a canvas

                actors

 clap themselves

 

 

 

left behind by magritte