L’Usurper de l’Amour

She was prone to moonwrath;
She was coming to goldenness;
It was an outblown image of potential –
Forever was smiling and playing with her hair.
Catullus was laughing bitterly,
And butterflies opened like hearts,
The slaves all walked to the sea, now dark,
But she…she was prone to moonwrath,
Unleashed upon tides, economies, minds,
With a necklace of conquests
Adorning her like a Yuletide wreath

“This is where I bleed through for you,”
I say, (in the unlikely rain, incessant)
Where Phoenix’ wings molt without
Sol touching & the songs all playing
And where I have no more of time, and
“Who are you?” I ask on this night of
Desert rain, of she, prone to moonwrath
And dire changes; But she leers, vanishes,
As this desert rain pours its tears down
Upon the silent cars and lives,
Tears poured back into the void of this land,
“Black teacher, lend me a hand!”
Joy will push through me,
Buzzing and weeping, wavering swiftly,
I an otherworldly being…
                          …can they even see me?

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Chris Robideaux

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  1. William Cowan says:

    Lvgette, o veneres cupidinesque,
    et quantum est hominum uenustirorum

    mourn, ye Graces, and Loves,
    and all you whom the Graces love


  2. Thanks, William, for providing the Catullian quote there to bring more context to the piece! A bit of a self-pitying, or world-pitying epigram, there…



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