Lorgnette to Sunrise
"I am astonished by everything
I am delighted by nothing."
She said, now stood before the open window;
Her shadow holding a thin brazen line,
As though widow at her own funeral,
Listening to the rain will inspire the saturnine.
Moods grapple in regular gobbet discomfort,
I could not chew or swallow, I did not wish to.
When I was young, not too long ago;
I swept along tomorrows empty walkways,
I dreamt I was flowing as though made of air,
Hearing not complaint and ignoring praise.
I dreamt away the spurious wounds of ire,
A slow ballet in cruel hoyden abandon.
That thin incubus line does mystic fibres make;
About her hair, her wide aggressive hips,
The womanness of her made me shrink
I recoiled back into rambling skin, clawing deep into my lips.
The hag gytrash lingered upon her cold shoulder,
Inventing a cruel vocabulary in slow movements.
Oh that bloody rain would not pause a drop;
The grimalkin spinster coughed up stale bread,
Dryer than the souls of broken fingertips,
I mutely watched it all transpire, half in love and half in dread.