Better draft...
Addressing the Convalescent Dream-Junkie
I am spinning on a wheel of wands,
of honeysuckle and pride.
an homage to a dead Phoenician
who rises windward out of sea-swell and whirl.
Dido on the Isle of Dogs.
Later sitting at a game of chess in
rags across from the Hag Queen,
she spoke with a mouth as wide as the world:
a pawn may take your king
but I prefer knights,
and she was quick in reverence
to honor her words. I lost my
apple-cheeked Adonis there.
Her cards at The Burial of the Dead,
was the Hanged Man who brings you luck,
yet he flees frantic into the wash on the rocks
and the water of tainted murky depths.
Trapped in a bone-box silence is easy.
