In her image the sun made me
round and ornately petaled,
burning and erupting
in feathery plumes. Don’t stare!
I was the Sun King.
Shadows radiated away from me
like the teeth of my enemies
strung on a reckless necklace.
That’s not a mugger’s knife
but a prisoner of earth’s desperate attempt
to pick my lock. I was, after all,
the state. Why must I now perform
for the forgotten and forgettable?
Why have I not limped like a blimp
into the humped clouds? I can’t seem
to shake this legacy of lead,
asteroids roaring in the vacuum
of my farcical heart.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- A Week of Kindness
- Herbaceous
- Crushed
- Breast Man
- Manic Pixie Dream Consultant
- Lord of Misrule
- Lilium martagon
- Cat Person
- Escape Artist
- Provincial
- Black site
- Love Machine
- Lionheart
- The Song of the Womb
- Fallen Woman
- Postmortem
- Floating World (Ukiyo)
- Insomniac’s Revenge
- Travel Anxiety
- What Does the Shadow Know?
- Exile
- Desecration
- Bubbly
- The Comeback Kid
- Outside-in
- Sequestered
- White Lady
- Invested
- Mater
- Blow
- Submission
- Biofeedback
- Public Servant
- Executive
- Specialist
- Officialdom
- Prayer Warriors
- Bitter End
- Riparian
- Cabaret
- Accommodation
- Treedom
- Livid
- Flood Watch
- Iemanja
- Imprisoned
- Downward Mobility
- Sirenity
- Somniloquy
- Master Debaters
- Helene