Voilà by Cam M. Roberts "With those unseeing eyes I so begged when alive to look at me." — Samuel Beckett, ...but the clouds... I A Pledge is a benefit of the doubt under the condition of a dream as contagious as Terror Logic — It sifts through us as if conduits still awaiting some consensus in reciprocal wilderness. II Transference is a kind of catharsis delivered to the wrong audience: So keep on raving, then survey your conspirators because everyone's a Cult Leader in this country. Phallic contrails lacerate the sky — Walls hood our bane. How are we actually kindred spirits in our virtual world of zeitgeists? Are we distinct by subverted limits when we ourselves are poltergeists? III In view of the burning evening, this atmosphere turns to grey as does the time we share together, our cigarette silence becomes more sensitive by the second: Underscoring of echoic vespers by melancholic starling whispers — Until darkening spires on yonder horizon steep can no longer be seen out of memory - Nightfall snatches it all, under a polished claw half-unsheathed the waxing moon. All withholds the mind's return in shrouds of ghost-light, now half-blind, half-holy. So how will our final tableau recur? All that is beautiful catches the Light you allowed yourself to shine upon — © CMR, 2014