Hussygirlfreak

How savage the mad, little yellow moon To my soft eyes appears And what imploring tears Could compel a Bedlam beggar’s boon From its eerie rage? Even in its golden cage It terrifies with filthy hands and croons Reaching between bars To tear the wings from stars (‘Tis hardly a surprise that after dark The inmate laughs the grave-dog’s bark).

She wound the music box, closed her eyes. and its silver jam trickled into her grief-rusted lungs murmuring: 'Remember it like a fairytale' Ah yes. A dragon ate him inside out instead of cancer.

Nothing but the pitter-patter Of rain on lily pads, those, Great, green oval flat-fish With a little pink nosegay Floating in ponds less blue Than summer-grey ripples. I wish I had a flute To blow something into The dazed, delicious air. Frogs burble, half-dozing Their yellow wet-suits gleam. There is something virginal About this grass-limbed Hollow with leaf-fringed Dewy eyes. Here and there Linnets melt the sun with Clear and glassy voices. The rain ceases climbing Wet rungs of a coloured bow. Somewhere up there beyond The dome of relaxed green There is blue as bright And scorching as naked flame. I will hate it when spring And summer

Beneath the rain and burnt-black door Golden letters rim the entrance to the bar Bronze flickers within, glints on the scars Across the windows, carved by the rain And the curved rows of saxophones inside Humming voices deep as velvet clouds Drenched in honey and angel tears Mourning what we cannot understand Unfurl wings of gossamer and flit like amber Shadows of whiskey, shadows of brandy Shadows of a woman on a hardboiled stool A christmas candy in her hair, furs across Slender shoulders, evening dress a glimmer Of violet pinned with pearls, emeralds Frozen absinthe crying from her ears She parts lips so blue that all colors Collide agai

I wake in my glade of flowers And weave them in my hair Purpline, sunsets of ophar Bleeding the early hours Wake the bird to prayer From green and creeping bowers I never pause to wonder At the starkness of the quiet Or the fates of those that pry it And are lost to thunder Without murmur or violet Fleeces to herald their founder. The scents of nectar, dew Tangle me in unknowing delight Jasmine of the day and night Foams my slumber anew Frothy over marble white Dark-eyed with summer's blue I speak in thoughts; they reply To me in kind, to me alone I graze my elbows on the stone That blankets this one's lie Moss-ridden like a ruined throne

The air is cold to touch Like the burn of frost Before a teething blizzard Ice as eerie and green as Death Stretches bony fingers From window sils And the snapping kiss of silver That electrifies the sky With chill'd clarity beyond words Is so dry and cynical That your tears shrivel Back into your eyes to freeze Your bloodstream clot by clot Mocking your broken world With whispers of suns as pale As diamonds, starbursting across The ancient horizon to blind Cruel eyes into emerald crescents Fey as the poisons kings inhale From crystalline goblets studded With amethysts and the taste of ozone (After the dark purple temper Of charcoal'd thunder