Sheherazade

I’ve paid my share of hazards
While reconstructing the fair-tales of the confessing heroes
Taking advantage of season change
and doubt failure and relief forms
Only to control
the safety passwords of myth survivors.
Towards an aspirational happy ending,
Virtually uninterruptable by unexpected hopes,
I’m tearing up magic wands to make fuel for a fire,
Rolling down a sinister ladder of smoke,
Over the edge of the same epic, coherent desire.
Repeatedly ignored,
I jeopardize and complicate my self-
Trying to capture a ghostly apparition
in a plausible snapshot
trading pounds of my own flesh
without knowing how an immune system really works.
“There will be no life-threatening repercussions this time”
They used to say.

To avoid a vain curiosity and acquaint with the modern stage
We are all gingerbread people
Running away.