Woman’s Ruin

That’s when the white witch realized
that to hold the gaze of another’s eyes is
to hold a prisoner,
to be a captor.

And the opal moon,
with a mouth ever wailing,
crater eyes cold as cosmos,
silvered away into the obscurity of rebirth
alight with the vorticose reeling of the earth

She beheld her lover’s chin,
did it quiver or did it grin?
It did both before a sigh unclasped
his lips

and all the secrets sleeping therein
lay bare as breasts upon his tongue
and begged to taste her speak a lie.

Alas,
her wry mouth cast a sharp line.

Her eyes dimmed as doused luminaries-
her song for Solomon muted mid-verse:

A man with a back like a wall of cord,
and legs like proud oak trunks
with fragrant bark,
and sticky sweet sap
with a flavor like the realization of mirth-

For all the treasure coveted thus,
her name was a weight
he could not carry.

And the platinum sun
with laughter preceding his light,
and a voice burning low as a jeweler’s kiln,
peppers the bright over tombs of ice-
devours the offerings of the night.

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One thought on “Woman’s Ruin

  1. I’ve been trying to think all day of who this poem reminded me of and it finally came to me. The Rape of the Locke and the Looking Glass by Alexander Pope. Duke is right – you can definitely mingle the classic with the moderne. A certain cynical translucence. “her name was a weight he could not carry.”

    Liked by 1 person

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