Vanishing Act

There is a place
For all of us
To hide,
To unveil
The bride,
The misery,
The bleak sunder
Amongst foxes;
In the dark,
In the corner
Of your room,
In the sordid cubicle
Of a bar's restroom,
Behind a car,
Under a lamppost,
In the blear
Of the noise,
In the epicenter
Of a crowd,
Where you can die
And no one would know,
Where you can give up
And no false-hope
Can linger
And where the wounds
Do not deserve
The emollient graze
Of tourniquets
And this place
Is ubiquitous
Swallowing the bliss
Of ephemeral days
And in this place
You should learn to subsist
Because this place
Is the only one
That will never leave

You are one lucky fellow
If you had picture
A woman, a man,
A lover, a comrade,
Building bricks
To become this place
Of safe
Euthanasia
For every
Vanishing acts.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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