Tuesday, 28 August 2012

Allo, Princess

your pale dance mother,
blanched as an almond,
forgotten in a bowl

beckons You, her
redemptive daughter,
full-moon dance child

to comply
to the terms of an  atavastic
contract:

You bend, fold and shimmer
in a back-stage-lit distance
and pray

that all gaping holes
will be closed, stones healed,

sins forgiven.

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