Sous Vide

Lights.
Fluorescent-- Stars dancing across the empty sky.
No noise, just quiet, a stream of consciousness.

How many?
Five.
Five?
Five total.

Hear that-- Heartbeat in the house.
Thump, thump, the rib-cage.

Night-- Desperado.

Late, arrival.

Window, overlooking.
City lights.
Flames arise.

How many?
Meeting My Party.

Five.
​How many?
​I Have Arrived.

---

Chant-- melodies in pause.
Still waiting for some, of course.

Missing Two.

Bone-crushing scream,
and everything in between.

Dinner For Six.

Sous-Vide?

Clearly.

Not a circle-- Rectangle square,
mind your business,
where to sit where.

Aroma and scent--
For them to ascend?
No-- An incident.

How many?
Four.
​I thought there were more.

---

Move across the table,
your body is now able.
Interchanging looks,
but no one else in the room,
not even the cooks.

Just them and you,
kicked aside Blue.

Arrival-- three and four.
Shall We Begin?
Once More.

And then the gifts of evolution presented,
a weapon for each-- transcended.

A hopeful view of your world, indeed.
But in the future you all bleed.

For each smile interchanged--
beneath the charade,
over-lookers and passerby's
wonder who you all are.

Different Bottles At The Bar.

Each a poison with a different kick,
stick of dynamite--
you've lit the wick.

No Mere Parlor Trick.

Each gifted a tool for your demise,
hoping one day, perhaps,
tear through your disguise.

How many?
Table For Blue.
What About The Warriors?
Don't Mind The Coup.

Es-tu satisfait?
They Cannot See.
Ils vont bientôt se détruire.
Par leur main.
Then I Will Wait.
Pour voir qui a l'hameçon?
Pour Voir Qui Jette La Première Pierre.

Combien?
Une Reine Et Quatre Guerriers.
Bon appétit, mon roi.

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