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Tumbleweed Degacons Shove a hexagon down my throat wrap my wounds in pentagons bound my wrists in squares clasp golden triangles around my hair. A circle left; a circlet upon my head. When two lines can’t form a shape they but bend — and those lines with sane roundness complete a new form. Silence the Rabbit with a cloth. Conceal the blood from the claw marks. Iron gloves, iron bracelets, iron armor and the golden winged helmet. Metal to slow the course. The caduceus, a winged staff with intertwining snakes two realms stitched together, two parallel lines bending. The White Rabbit with its pocket watch caught somewhere between the waking and the Wonderland. Hermes with his White Rabbit in his hands watch tetrachromatic polygons waltzing with angels in the Neverland, in the ether, in the ephemeral tundra. Heptagon eyes, the Rabbit has heptagon eyes. He wants to break past octagons to rescue Alice: he can see her through the looking glass but she can’t she him — the mirror’s reflection clouding her vision of him. She sees her own two dice eyes.
The nonagon of it all, the kaleidoscope replication with more lines we’re closer to a circle, a circle, we cycle back to it. The decagon: like the air and soul were sucked out of a circle. Flat sides as the ball tumbles down the spiral staircase. Tumbleweed decagons waiting for parallel lines to entangle the conscious and the unconscious.
Jennifer Silvey The Skeleton Kings with Thorn Crowns White fangs, red tongue, black wolves in the forest howling beneath the pale full moon and stars. The kings return; they chant to the black sky: Ashes and bones, we are ashes and bones. The Black Raven took us under the light. The White Raven found us at the river; we could not drink of it. The White Raven she put a goblet to our lips and breathed a song into our ashes — she made bones. The kings in lupine thrill beating their drums, the coronation oath with lyre and horn, the misty forests at their beck and call. They haunt with the wolves; they rule with the wolves. The trees their scepters; the branches their claws. The White Raven holds her cup to commune.
Kings of the winter flora rising now to greet the ash, the elm, the spruce, the thorn to place crowns upon their heads and pray fast to heaven far beyond the oars and sea to heaven far beyond the stars and lea.
Bloodthirst Touch. Blood. Skin sticks. Crystal glass. Contact with strangers. Tree. Bark. Skin itches. Thistle hives. Contact with strangers. Pieces. Sweat. Skinship. Pink blobs. Contact with strangers. Yin. Yang. Skinship Bristly thighs. Contact with strangers. Night body touch the moon. Bloodstream touch the sun. You cut me with crystal glass. I break like tree bark. Skin itches. I am pieces. I am sweat. I am pink blobbing flesh. I am the yin. You are the yang. Night body touch the moon. Bloodstream touch the sun.
