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  • Writer's pictureElvins Artiles

Good Friday and the Weekend

The end of life is a beautiful woman

beside you; her yellow self cast forth

from the yellow lamp: a buzzing

papilio yellow-robed, red hair;

dawn rising through an ocean 

of translucent gold.

Your lady and legs crossed; 

green needles outside combed 

with cool breath 

(sap fading)—

as she files her nails and draws out

the cherry color, sea breams 

her fingers, touching the wheat portraits,

of Whitman? Pound? She touches

your face, 

then an orange peeled 

after the dried citrus of lacquer;

it rests upon your nostrils too

while the undulation of golden fins

shake the red stream.


she will read to you, caressing 

the faces of earth, 

then depart 

from you, to the timeclock, 

to throw her socks, washes, 

wiggles in bed for warmth 

giggling all throughout.

The dew slowly falls and sloshes

upon the cathedral’s crosses, 

as Sunday mass arrives and leaves,

with none attending. 

Your Bible is both for leisure, 

commonplace: a pan of dust;

you asleep beside her.


Elvins Artiles is a writer based in Boston, Massachusetts. Engaged in an adulterous affair with life, Elvins strives after the subduing of the sublime with the few words he feels confident in showcasing. A self-proclaimed literary masochist, Elvins enjoys the celestial contempt acquired in every turning minute he gives to his writing. He hopes to make beautiful things.


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