Detestable malcontent, braggard at the throat,
doused in cursive mahogany high heels and a
sarcoline-feathered boa, don’t hoist anchors
against skippers’ will. Begone, contemptable
knave, for these pines are not for you.
Dance, dance your umpteenth dance with
amethyst hares in hairy snowdrifts. Swivel
the lamps through your mighty cleaving,
let us all guess your corporeal name. If not
a sharp cavalry, then Easter sparrows shall
bear the coveted spears.
Circle, circle, circle the swaying parapets
till they drop like philodendron leaves.
These fire ants are porridges for elders.
A carpeted smile of Portuguese lute music
and you flag like olive-green oysters
in blustery north winds.
Lavender mute, colorful foil, fulvous
demimonde – even the graying platypus
agrees. With chartreuse hair on liquid skull,
striated pardalote wings soaring high above
marshmallow marshes and concreted plains,
we adore you while despising this reality.
Could you please tell us your name?
Robin Ray is a POC/LGBT writer from Port Townsend, WA. He has published two novels, two collections of short stories, nine novellas and one book of non-fiction. His shorter works have appeared at magazines such as Red Fez, Fairy Tale Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, and elsewhere.
He can be find on Twitter at @redrobin62