Thursday, January 24, 2008

Wintersea, 2

In Wintersea when the winter heat
drifts ashore
the Degas in the Main Hall?

its white tutu thaws into a soft, milky froth

but the citizens must not ever speak of this
for the newborns are always and still
fast asleep
and jealousy creeps and devours
in every corner

dripping a metallic water

“and thou art dead, as young and fair”
Lord Byron shouted into the fog but no one wanted to hear
over the buzzing of flies vomiting on rotted meat
the screaming pile of foul smelling letters
the discordant noise in the shattering reflections

“Do you finally see?” the Hag pleads
bearing her gray teeth through blackened lips
her silver gown glistening on the synthetic sea
the froth and foam bathes the Furies and The Crone.

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