her frazzled plumage a plethora of motes
dancing wildly, vividly in sunlit beams
through a curtain torn and frayed
until she is adorned with ribbons
|Action Figures, by Edith Vonnegut|
We are elated in asphalt
rag tag curbs of millennial marble
and foot worn weathered roots
sending rot into upturned concrete.
Now the stars light the streets
popping frenetic flashbulbs
burning images into memories
on transparent freeways of the all everywhere.
Reaching into the clouds
secrets out of sight
monoliths bound by gravity fight the urge to fly.
When the children rise up
to rule the goddess of dust
as the lofty fly high scouring the clouds
trinkets less than gold wend like the serpent
swiftly on a riser, pilfer her good grace
and leave a grave countenance,
a tattoo of platitude on the lined landscape
that is her face.
submitted for Magpie Tales