A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms

Ballade of Noir Affliction

by Peggy Aylsworth

In the hard darkness we sit confined
with strangers and lovers witnessing sleight-
of-image, of sound, of all it reminds,
as the killer imposes on our half-naked sight
an unanswered look too canny and kind.
We breathe in the romance of this appeal.
He gives us a taste of cold appetite.
Trapped in a form made virtually real.

Nothing but murder hangs in his mind.
It lurks in the shadow of dense black and white,
his trail of ashes follow behind,
obscured in the flicker of harsh neon light.
A thin bedroom curtain over the blind
lifts in the wind, a baby’s fat squeal.
The cover of traffic enlivens the night.
Trapped in a form made virtually real.

Where can she run, away from her bind?
Escape has no window, no ticket for flight.
Hunted and haunted, her fate intertwined
with desire gone sour, once at its height,
silk sheets, sacred bodies. Her yes disinclined.
Now in this room all the moon can reveal:
the corpse of his memory, his bitter bite.
Trapped in a form made virtually real.


Caught by enchantment that we invite,
seduced by attraction of cinema zeal,
we’ve only ourselves to blame or indict . . .
We submit to the forms made virtually real.

Peggy Aylsworth has had poems published in Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin, DMQ, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, and in numerous other literary journals throughout the U.S.and abroad.


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