THE RIDDLE, THE FLAW, AND THE PUNISHMENT


If I am beautiful am I real?
Like the boys on the 24th floor
They are beautiful
I don't know how to reach them
I don't know how they got there
Are they real?
Are they the small book of poems
Left beneath Sebastian's tree
A page for each face
A sonnet for each precious, beautiful, life
of the boys on the 24th floor
Each pulling at the others clothes
baring chests and thighs some smooth like stone
Some coarse with hair like velvet
If I am beautiful Do I exist
Do these boys on the 24th floor exist?
Are they merely the temperature, the weather?
The blush across my cheeks?
How do I find this hidden floor?
Where the bed is a sacred alter
Holding those Beautiful fellows
Are the words of the bible
A book for each?
Or merely strains of Liliaceae
Showing their holy strength in the force of their stalk and colour
They are the beautiful
Those boys on the 24th
We artist and poets we search for ever
And what of us?
Are we not beautiful?
Are we not real?
Why is it we never find the 24th floor?

'IT'S THE SAME OLD PANE OF GLASS, A SMALL CRACK RUNNING FROM CORNER TO CORNER, THE RAIN FALLS. IT IS NOT EVEN EVENING AND THE LAMPS ARE ON. I SIT ON A CHAIR THAT BELONGED TO MY GRANDMOTHER, SHE IS NOT YET DEAD BUT WHAT USE DOES SHE HAVE FOR EXTRA FURNITURE NOW THAT IT IS JUST HER? I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW AND THINK ABOUT THE SECRET ROOM ON AN EVEN MORE SECRET FLOOR, THE 24TH, NO ONE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT IT, FOR THE DESIRE TO FIND IT AND GAIN ENTRY MEANS YOU WILL NEVER GO BEYOND THE FIRST. THERE IN LIES THE RIDDLE, THE FLAW AND THE PUNISHMENT'. 

THE RIDDLE, THE FLAW AND THE PUNISHMENT.





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