My heart is a broken metronome
A gift by saboteur
Wayward in her rhythm
though birthing Gods of Beauty
Like the Tree of Myrrh

My heart is a broken metronome
Reckless in her proffer
Too hasty in her measure
Yet for those adroit to dive her depth
A sunken Royal Coffer

I’ve experienced the wetlands
and the desert today
Had that oasis
in the dry doldrums
I was a thirsty *****
then given your ladle to drink
Searched for the shade
in shallow sands
I found a harlot’s haven
amid those haughty hymns
It was a day of extremes
before I rested in a dream

She was safe
on the days she gave the panacea of invisibility for her mothers nostalgic melancholy
and her fathers scalding vitriol.
They were happy
on days that she pushed her abrasively cheerful spirit all the way down
to the place in herself where the too loud things were sent to be ignored.
She was respected
In the moments she feigned premature maturity,
played dress up as the defeated adult version of herself
and sat quietly joyless at the table of the honoured sombre.

Survival for the girl
Became defeat for the woman

The love she sought by becoming the elixir for the woes of those she loved, became the guillotine where reciprocity went to die.

Giant golden orb, primed,
the Scorpions tail delivers her blow
And I, in futile preparedness,
crushed between her barb and the centaurs insecure rage.
Unabashed love the second casualty
as Mars raised his sword 3 times and struck with Aries force,
a tsunami into gentle waters.
Later the fish, the fish in the whirlpool,
he chewed mercilessly,
he was not hungry for flesh but for innocence
and he feasted to corruption.
And I, with bitter hopefulness,
purged the fish through one way inverse fury.
Adrift at sea, the second god of war,
carried to lucent quartz shores,
captured the tsunami for his salvation, dragging her to the desert.
And I, all watery doggedness, laboured for her a thorny oasis
from which the second god of war was banished.
Whence fair daughter of Gaia in refined tenderness,
delivered the gift between life and language,
Blushing song of refuge.

Shifting bruises in unswept dust
Summer whispers to trees untouched
A wind-swept melody
runs through sun-baked weeds
Amber roots seep steadily
Staining the driftless sky