TROMPE L'ŒIL: EIGHT KINDS OF SHADE S.R. AICHINGER

​

i.

                        This rose-sized word, puffed

                                    bruise that bruises shade,

            might make lies look like truth.

                        That truth is shade. 

 

 

ii.

                        Yes.

            We had the rhythms

                                    of two bored dancers. 

 

                        & yes.

            We had the blues.

                                    Those blues? My shade.

 

 

iii.

            Just one syringe of pink

                                                            to kill the dog,

                        so when I felt him move,

            the move meant shade.

 

 

iv.

            We're all-or-nothing

                                                boys, downhill

            dashing.

                                    We have nothing

                                                to prove

                                   which proves

            our shade.

 

 

v.

            I'm proficient with shade. I'm knives with eyes.

            I caught him passing through, though truth is shade.

 

 

vi.

            Don't pray

            for the dying—

            we're short on time.

 

            These dreams

            are for the poor,

            paid for by shade.

 

 

vii.

            Was sleep the only drug

                                    we couldn't buy?

            I've tried buying love too.

                                                We two were shade.

 

 

viii.

            Not bad guys,

            those wise guys.

                                                Still, I kill them

                                                for a reason

                        to grieve, but

                        grief is shade.