Saturday, August 28, 2010

she was a cannonball

she was a cannonball

ridden by the nightmare
her bronze head
round withered sweeps
a hater of tombs
and dreamer of dreams
no matter how horrific
children she gathered
in the darkness
the deepest black
all sleek with wildness
most foulest decline
not for the faint graspers
caught in the fool’s throat
walking naked
she whispered the need
a notorious ceremony
made the devil laugh
with her lashes
and carving
the wood and black
wax from the belly fat
all that she owned
crazed dancing vision
looked death in the face
and snickered

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