Anne III


Anne,
my faerie queen,
what call had you to flee upon you donkey?
I reach up to the moon,
   my body painted violet and black
                              midnight blue and purple
                              white and yellow.
You chewed off your own head to escape the snare
      and ended up no better off.
  I am curled up,
 shivering in the wood,
     scared of any and every beam of silver light 
           shed by the stars,
    singing
          La De Dah
      over and over to puncture
            the rubber sheet of silence that mummifies me.
I hate you
	    for leaving me but
I love you
              for leaving me not alone,
                                   but with your fluidity
                  poured out into my patiently cupped hands.
       This liquid I use
			to satiate my parched throat,
			to cleanse my soiled sheets,
			to bathe my despondent body.
Cuddle with me and rub my back,
for as sick as it sounds,
I have found a sort of life
			     in your sort of death.






  


    

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