Tear Her All to Pieces
Wind riffling waves across fields of
wheat
Richard the Lionheart crosses,
sheathes, meets and greets
in her pale remembered sun.
A warmed-over stream where
sticklebacks swim
boys scream, turn over lost doors for
rafts and grin.
to voyage downstream before they can
run.
Innocents peer deep into rushes and
reeds
where small mammals tremble amongst
the grasses and seeds.
Past her echoing ghosts of days long
gone.
Yellow matted banks of tangled snapdragon
shot through with rippling nightshades,
ochres and laburnum
she recalls reverberation of cannon
and gun.
She flirts at the borders in the
forest of the mind
her throat and breasts bare by
thoughts and design
shudders to the shake of the drum.
Hem-locked Lords, now the lady Bella Donna
faint smiles.
She listens with understanding to
distant shouts of the child
strapped tight, bound to, never
undone.
Her looking glass rubbed smooth by
time, she still recoils,
when Lionheart raises sword, signals
to bring him her spoils,
ripping limbs apart from each other
one.
She glimpses returning boys, she
watches and listens
to joyful shrieks, where tears on
their cheeks now glisten
in her pale remembered sun.
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