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The Flowering

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Saunter steps. Your clodding makes streets quiver
Buckling men’s knees with a shy smiling desire
Your burial headdress hewn from each sliver
Of cruel starry skin. Your years are a liar,
Sick child with beauty like religion, seething, towering,
Burning cities of truth and silks. So anguished my trance,
Captor captive. I dreaded time’s flowering
When your petals dripped tears in a horrified dance
But fear’s flame fades, you sad crawling urchin
Our crime stole the light from your sealt legs in time
Shattered dove, you cling above hell, perching
With its own filth did headdress gilt begrime

Spread, black, broke. Beast at last paired pen to page
Knowing no beauty, she drew her own cage.



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stunnedbystunning said...
Apr. 20, 2010 at 7:57 pm:
This is f***ing brilliant. I...wow. As a story, as poetry, this is thrilling to me, because you put a million meanings into each word, and what you had to say was NOT fluffy. I despise fluff. This is bristling fur, lethal. Its not miraculously flowing, but still. Fantastic. I want more.
 
androgynous replied...
Aug. 19, 2010 at 7:14 pm :
WOW WHOA blew me away
 
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