Monday, April 23, 2012

where you are not king

she will sing.

You might,
With your strong arm
smash a lesser embryo

but not she.

she.
will.
sing. in your face
like a scream,
defying all the worlds
you hold in your hand

and when you press down slow
And she is aching,
her beautiful rage
will only grow
into flames
you
Can't squelch
with
Your waterless ego
or your calcium
critique

her bones flex
beneath your forceful palm-
your insignificant
Attempt at
her ruin.

Sure, she might cry once
but her heart is dry of you.

and the desert
creates a song of lace
that binds around
your
Haughty
head

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