Sunday, December 23, 2012


Whether she carries oatcakes
Or an obsidian dagger
The fatality of danger
Pricks her perturbation.

She could traverse dark labyrinths
Held by her unwavering serenity
Yet stippling her inflamed senses
Is the sated reality of cleaving

Yet the cleaving she is given
Relinquishes her being
By transmuting the revelatory
With brute coercion.

Streaked with lustrous transcendence
She counteracts sordid kitsch
Yet shaped by a narrative unheld
Pirouettes to foreclosed possibility

Yet the vestige of the impalpable
Render her pliable to metamorphoses
And transform her inexorable fate
Into arabesques of apotheosis.

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