Barroco By Sy Roth
There’s a weakness behind the awkward smiles.
There’s a trembling in their sere hands.
Run maddeningly away.
They promised you’d be perfect in gestation.
They crossed their fingers and prayed for your sameness.
Ultra-sound weeping heard behind their closed doors.
You appeared in unpredictable form,
Misshapen Quasimodo, your arms twisted in elaborate
Plies like a ravaged home swept under a tsunami.
Scream your difference,
You mutated creation wrought from silent ashes .
You are a smoldering concoction that roars from stagnant wells.
We dressed you in all our finery.
Narrated a story for the others to hear.
An angry conductor moved his orchestra through Hindemith
In a cacophony that created you
An act of bravado borne in a senseless orgy of disharmonic tinkling,
A Kristallnacht of creation made real in your newness.
But they turned away
Snuck peeks at the creation
And gasped at the rolling, discordant fox trots
Of those expressive baroque creatures
Who danced in their dreams across the world.
They created a cabal of homogenization,
Reveled in it
Finding the sameness exhilarating.
The others abided in a world too neat
Made merry in a world run amok,
Their crooked world
Gnarly, where the twisted ones are tolerated
And adorn it with their difference.
Beauty of difference, these
Barroco pearls unrounded in their shell,
You are not like the others,
You bold, brash creation of difference
Planted in a world that buries its malformed.
Standing apart from the ordinary.
The plain only stand erect
Wallow in the decrepitude of their ungainly perfection,
Take their millionth youthful creation
Waddling to finally stand upright.
But, you, barroco beauty,
Roll along in your real chair,
Molded in your Queen Nefertiti’s fiery chariot
Puffing staccato whiffs of pellucid air
While the others turn their heads and give you way.
You reside in a world where the others
Ride around in their gas wagons until they all turn blue
Then planted in unmarked graves
To melt into inky remembrances
Of a distorted the world of uniformity and straight lines
Made into entities molded into non-identities
Where only smiling canines and incisors bleached white are seen
Suspended in Vonnegut’s world of puckered anuses.
©2018 Sy Roth