Monday, November 27, 2017

James Walton #84 Death Cap Ballet/Amanita Phalloides

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.


  1. and that was a good day looking back
    but 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


  2. Yikes James...

    The Death Cap
    what goes on under
    the universal veil
    generally only found
    in the worst kitchens
    of the worst restaurants
    usually empty


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