Time elapses, and the coldness inside thaws to a dull ache.
Scars linger, but the memory fades.
Too many bourbons, too many fists in my pride have floated beneath this sunken bride.
You know how it hurt me, how distant that glimmering starshine
-- the optimist rant -- was, in my mind, at the time.
All to breathe fire; carnivorous, sublime seances to salvage the phoenix from the flames.
Higher to the heavens I fly now.
My name forms curls on his lips like a seraphim, lost and crazed, drugged on a node, a whim, a fancy.
Known to none and yet to all who see.
A future lover, magician, freak show, melee of words.
A poetry of fingertips on buttons which, once pressed, set a chain reaction of cells and atoms to detonate a once flaccid inner child
-- devoid of sunflowers -- to help the sun ride into her eyes.
Purple cows, bound left hand, the 'th' in a name, too short to shoot.
A band of rogues, black spider legs weave tambourines through the queers and whores of this lean, lean town.
Her secrets on show (a peep or two) for the pollie's man. Just a tender coup.
Mince meat for the war on flesh, blood of 3000 strong.
Rivulets of hatred dream cannibal floods.
All this while, white bird -- wings in bondage -- screams for freedom, for a rose-coloured age.
© Amanda Schneider 23/1/2007
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