2017 10 16
Snow swirls at midnight on the Bridge of Spies
where the Weeping Clown waits in tattered cloak
to be exchanged for young Bellerophon
who carries broke wings of Pegasus.
Appearing from the swirling mist of fear,
the Eyeless King, clutching his silver gun,
holds out the ancient Book of Secret Tales
for Cinderella who receives its spells.
"The names of everyone who ever lived
are written on its pages with my blood,
so when you read their secret thoughts in code
their idols beam from holographic gem."
While Cinderella turns each crumbling page
the letters fly away like buzzing bees
and drink the pollen from our dreaming brains
that sparkle as honey in falling rain.
She gazes from the tower of laughing skulls
and strums gold harp while chanting wordless spells
that sew wings of Pegasus on my back
so I can fly above her labyrinth.
Then Cinderella pauses from her song
and tries to tell me how she was abused
by her uncle, boyfriend, date, and professor,
but all her words are twisted into flowers.
I wander lost in labyrinth of mirrors
where every man reigns in his home as king
but women dressed in long white gowns who fight
for liberty are smeared with tar of hate.
How shall we smash strong patriarchal walls
and build new social system that portrays
woman as the goddess who creates life
by planting seeds that sprout to apple trees?