The cruelest of assassins
rises in the best of seasons
allowing a rally near the end
drops from anointed brows
ease down gauze curtains
surprising medieval seers
with the wonder in recovery
later blaming the sorcery
of a gender’s intuition
as they burned and drowned away
the rise of early feminism
the stage for Swan Lake floats
with armillarian sheets
daylight and night partners
the unexpected noise of cramping slippers
so uniform on a parquetry of water
whiter than compressed purity
tutus sieve through a cotton day
by a pattern dreamed of hysteria
in a setting physique of training
thoughts begin to decompose
like a composer’s typhus
ice floes shunt organs brandish failure
rosemary and lavender mingle
in the priest’s wanton disdain
arms crossing breasts skilled feet bleed
the jester coaxes for applause
all the medicine of the modern world spills
unpackaged as fields after rain
useless against this primordial stocking.
and that was a good day looking back
ReplyDeletebut the weather turned around
a cotton tutu through a sieve's
to needle the silver tail of a camel
you'll get an eyeful of that
ReplyDeleteYikes James...
The Death Cap
what goes on under
the universal veil
generally only found
in the worst kitchens
of the worst restaurants
usually empty