MICHAEL
            IN CLEOPATRA'S EYES




MICHAEL


Wednesday. 

Your keys were stolen by the devil; she used them to open all the doors of 
distortion and sound, to turn out all of the lights living in the waking moment when 
all of the young gods had grown old. Club Extinction, where life is blood & pain. 
Reality, a new dialect of language & seasons, harmonies of invention. A new 
industry of human consumption. Where did you leave those keys? You had 
everything to gain and nothing to lose. You had the emptiness of an over 
agonized poetry and a religion of your own that served the one. And in the dark 
you wept cold bitter tears for a god that never cared or even remembered your 
name. It was as if all of the life upon earth had just vanished in a moment or had 
suddenly developed an expiration date. Hiroshima Mon Amour. Goodnight & 
goodbye. Still hiding behind all of your intellectual armor, still fighting all the 
infidels of time, the thought Gestapo and the killers of the sacred word. The 
emperor of ignorance and all of his angels of destruction still pretending to be the 
heroes, like the dead skin flaking off ourselves to become the new. But you 
remained timid, docile. Stood back & behind and watched from up on high while 
all the rest of the world attended to their dark responsibilities techno-fucked by 
the man to become the last piece in a puzzle of intricate nothingness, the 
universe. The dead phallic worship of a ghost who can't find his own way home. 
To be mortal, to be human to eat, to sleep, to shit....to fuck....to love. With your 
heart, you're head and your balls. To feel when within the night maybe you will 
think of daylight, a longing for some long forgotten stranger or hope. To want 
something that means something, or something that just matters. For somewhere 
beyond the sea the singer sings about you and me but leaves out the part where 
you became a pain in the ass. And I remember the day that the romantic died 
and became the angry man. Was it suicide? Or was it murder? I guess we'll 
never know. Because when you fell the sound came down deafening like some 
overpowering pop overture upon your knees and you finally came to the 
realization that you are nothing but a moth to the flame in the afterlife, another 
peacemaker sent gone bad. A transcendental agent of the temporal wake who 
can't remember even who in the hell he is. Wednesday... your keys were stolen 
by the devil who sells real estate on the side and who can suck on a soul like 
there's no tomorrow. Make a note; never do shots with the devil, she'll get 
everyone else killed and will make you question your own existence, not to 
mention, she'll break your heart every time, in every time, if you just give her 
half a chance.














IN CLEOPATRA'S EYES



"And all the light of the world surrounded her, and in her eyes there was 
salvation. As the world and she slowly drifted off to what seemed like a million 
miles away. Where all time stopped, streets seemed empty. And the world was 
no longer there. And in her eyes there was still beauty, light...salvation"





'How did you get here?'





I ask.



She smiles politely, and then says,







'Time"







She had to cross the River Nile & a few other places,

Made a few deals with the Gods, and the Oracles and had to apologize just to 
get the night ... 'Off'.






A few past lives & a bottle of wine,

But this time without all the poison.




'I'm just sick of passing romances'


She cries, then smiles at me like a cat and asks; by the way,

'You don't know a guy named Mark Anthony ... do you?'


To which I reply 'No, not at all.'


As she touches my hand and stares into my eyes unwavering.

And then says 'Thanks'. 



Seduces me with all her wiles & and all her false innocence,

Her beauty still there, lasting & full of centuries of lingering pain 





And hope.






And then she talks about her job, her life and all of her endless

Responsibilities. Asks me how my day went and wonders if she will ever stop 
being so wild, and one day finally settle down

With a couple of kids ... and a house.





Tells me about a number of all her failed past relationships.

Not based on love but only on power, appearances & success

That never ever quite work out.





And then we talk about the pyramids, empires and poetry,

Says she likes jewelry and wears a scarab necklace that she tells me that she 
bought ... at Macy's.





But all the while I still keep staring in those eyes,

Where all memories and all histories last but all finalize, as they take me off 
guard and once more willing to take another chance.





Knowing far better, than I should.





As we walk into the her bedroom, her skin like ivory

A beautiful tattoo above and yet below covering the

Length of her back, and her long black hair that sweeps across my body as all of 
my angels watch.





For in Cleopatra's eyes

I remember all time

Like emeralds

In the darkness

Shining in their light





Where I too tonight

Shall dream of all the mysteries

In this moment that is mine





Stronger than any romance

Or love





Now faded.







____________________________________________________

R.M. Engelhardt, A poet & writer through his ideas & visions has helped to create 
a large amount of the Upstate, Albany, NY spoken word scene and is the host of 
"VoX", Albany, NY's Open Mic For Poets, Poetry & The Word @ The Fuze Box. 
Currently, R.M. lives in Albany, NY where he is a ordained minister in spiritual 
humanism & has recently released his new book entitled "Versus"