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Rusting Princess . . ./an abstract/prose poem
We froze in breath not taken, she rises on the mist
Dancing on fireflies songs, sonnets, and Canary nests.
My eyes go dark, she whispers her fiery demands
Crouching snails, windless gales, giving food with wooden pans.
Chalk and mime are hand-in-hand in Wolf King's lair
Princess now slithers with serpents slime to speak, we don't dare.
Her heels click a numbered dance while panthers cry
She giggles a deathly song, now she's mist as the daylight dies.
Angry wolves sleep softly on garden sod
Judas serpent hides atop her flagstaff rod.
Still, princess reigns with empty crown
Bleeding souls now silent into frozen ground.
Rumbling, sacred rocks and trees shake the air
Princess' glazed eyes laughs with Jackal, The Fair.
Stroking his coat he nods with plans well laid
She winks a betrayer's wink to idol her dad had made.
Midnight trolls hide in tulip beds
As black raindrops drip lazily down their heads.
A peek here, a whisper there, there princess cries
Her unicorn squadron, seers soothe her lies.
Father Wolf and pups of nine sit hungrily still
Serpent confidant coils in princess' evil will.
Butterflies dance slowly on moonbeams path
Eager to bow and show honor to this female's path.
Music ceases from flutes and bagpipes of old
She treads the times step-by-step o'er silver, o'er gold.
Robins gather with muted signs so pure
While nameless donkeys carry the devil's potion to lure.
The trusted fence rail where she stood as a girl
And serfs of sod, a magician's rod, and maids turned up her curl.
Cute, pink cheeks and eyes that wink
Jingle of lies and seething plans vanish and blink.
Angry old wolf, ruler of pack so bold, stands to stare
Cry to war to those in silent caves should dare.
Spears, knives, and hooks so shiny sharp
Damsels' skeleton fingers play softly death's one harp.
Princess runs like her comrade, the North Wind
Seizing his breeze in Orion's knees with cuts that mend.
Princess now shines with spiders and filthy pane
Shaking her fist with angry vow stops the farmer's rain.
Serpents see her gowns so black, so paper thin
Fooled eons fall at her side, she sits with wine and burglar's pen.
Teasing the moon so tired, so pale
Kissing the surf, cursing the gale.
Her fences and bars are now gone
King now banished along with paper throne.
Old Wolf runs a run like light of day
Chewing, spitting out, her soul of flies, lies, and clay.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery