pearls

Where Her Demons Drove

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2009/05/03

Her myth's retold, recycling your unique
map of the bitch's descent where her demons drove,
each fold dyed in the holy word's mystique.

Like tedious old ritual, ignorant and weak,
abecedarians dredge phoencians' cryptic cove.
Her myth's retold, recycling your unique

technique, to harvest color at its peak,
extracting pearls of ink from the mollusk trove.
Each fold dyed in the holy word's mystique

reflects a cold horizon stewed down past its shriek
to a dense slimy soup on her scabrous stove.
Her myth's retold, recycling your unique

liturgy sold out by proverbs idols speak,
the mystic pattern into which her practice wove
each fold dyed in the holy word's mystique.

Then moonlight's aura slices the oblique
in golden light that paints her raiment mauve.
Her myth's retold, recycling your unique,
each fold dyed in the holy word's mystique.

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