Illustration and author avatar by John Martin Tilley

Purgatorio’s Pumpkins

Up 2
mischief?
Insufferable
houses are all lit.
Faces are lit under
wide mouth of moon.
Who/what’s lighting them up?
Scary-lucky ugly faces, all set
up 2 imitate. To imitate down
lucky-scary faces, all set 2 gloss
over. Violent circles under crows’
feet, tramping for seeds & guts &
strings of things blocking the flicker
& shine behind cursed mirror-eyes, set
up in waxy heads, put up on skeleton necks
of Sticks, a deserted antennae river-road of tar.
Gas prices.
It’s a who’s who out there. No one knows Jack! Facts.
Empty heads. Rotting heads. Caverns of lanterns up ahead.
The owl fights the oil inside the wicker-rib case for wicked pumpkins
in Purgatory. They are staring you dead in the face. Can you see me? Will you?
It helps out 2 get out. It’s time. (To put on makeup.) Get ready for another line-
up. People are putting you on. Faces have 2 show face. The black mirror screen is on. Set
lights up. It’s all carved into everyone. Faces are upset from the set. It’s scary. Natural. It’s in
a makeup case. Glow up is made up for show. Who? Turn on the set. Everything feels like some
set up.
Broken nose, but no one knows. Stick it in the middle. Take off. From the top. Little bit more. Take
off.
From the front. Little bit less. People will put on faces to throw up. Must have face on 2 face it.
Face up to the facts. Face off, or make up? Someone’s waiting 2 tear it down. What makes
it up? Another touchy topic. Must touch up the makeup then take face off for out-of-
touch
close-up of one starry-eyed stare. Who’s who? It goes rotten. Old heads
will go on to cave in. Feels like a punch to the face. Better, a quick
choice. But, they’re ready. 2 take you down. It’s so jacked up.
From bottom, up to the top, the past is in the near future.
Middle moonlight’s mirror-mirth wakes them all up to
Link
with the program. Put on a light. Show up in get-up.
Perpetual pumpkins in Purgatory. Who will get up?
& make up? Like in that set. Like in our heads.
Time’s up. I can never make up my mind. It’s
in my make-up. I get upset over finishing
touches. I’m stuck in limbo. Making a
choice makes a permanent mark in a
mask. All we want is to make it 2
Who is gonna make it out? Pick me
up, quick, with another door, up
against endless wall. My back is
up against made-up face, turnt
up. It’s up for elimination.
Stand up. Take the hit.
Roll with the punch.
Back up. Cheap
FX.
I’m smashed.
All these damn
angles.
Angels, run the hill. I’m not
sharp enough. I’m uncertain &
hiding. All that’s left to do is make
up. With your Self. It’s time. Quash
the squash. Imperfect man. Right on
the nose. That’s the punch line. Hands
smash up faces. Hands make up faces. Try
forces. Reflections of a star. Love. Triangles.
On the up & up, now you know, being down is
up.
Every body is making it up. Drop dead. Well add
it all up. Everyone doesn’t know how hits feel
in the face. I think it hurts too much. If that
wicked-electric critic made up the contest,
make up for lost time. Stolen Space.
Sorry? How many more times are you
going 2 beat your Self up? It goes
both ways.
Pumpkin, Hell isn’t done.
We have more trips
around the sun ! !
Are you dead?
Wake up,
Punkin’
head
! !