Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Swan Song

Swan Song

She untangles 
clumped dust from her unbrushed hair, 
hands smoothing into silk 
pleasure for her touch.  
Sour-pussed, 
nonplussed, 
internally eternal, 
she enjoys the panoply, 
the panorama of poetically entangled memory 
along the lanes of wonder.  
Without the barricade of 
fixed identity, 
she plays replete, 
balcony to world wide stage.  
Old, 
crone, 
mage, 
sovereign priestess of unnamed domain, 
she wishes 
and coin of primeval realm 
freely obeys.  
Watch her, gaze 
in consecrated crystal, 
blooms of dance 
hedonistic grace.  
She is yours for a song.

April 11, 2010

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