Queen Anemone And The Great Poppy Rebellion
Her swollen womb gave birth to the stars,
Each bled poppy petalled orb
A defiant unraveling to impress
And
Litter its spinning undress
Down to naked chambers.
The Queen of disenchanted means sighed,
Stitched mouth itching about
And the Royal Order decreed
That every heir to the narcotic throned skies
Be heard.
Every word.
Every empty headed protest or stammering contest
Regarding their laboured spill of birth.
The Queen gave a broken swan’s necked bow
And an absurdist curtsy
Inside out
Where we could see the slit layers
Of her Anemone heart
Where the atmospheric tension
Cut thick and meaty,
Heady and needy
Silver dollar eyes
Scratching grain fine,
Trying to resurrect a compelling opera,
Throat screeched gasoline lit raw
And reedy.
But she lost
And hung up all stellar heir seedlings
In their rightful place,
For how
She grew dog tired
From the wearying boulder of a diadem
That caved her skull
Back down to earth,
Tethering her
To solemn humility
While liberating
The flowered brood
By majestic accident.