wytchcroft

There she lies among the reeds
jewel bright bone and silver beads
like oil, like resin
like the ghost of a game
lost with a childhood
drowned with her name.


accidentally self prompted via torn world.

( misc. fishy notes )

- and she was, i remember with a migraine sensitivity, blinding;
a light like a strobe flashing celebration of the self,
she was her own Macy's Day parade, her own mad May Day...
and men twisting down like confetti at her feet,
like the money on Wall Street,
men raining from the sky
like they did in October 1929.

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this was originally posted as a comment to an entry by shoelace09, so thanks go to her. :))
thanks to rebeccawllde for a musical conversation that reminded me to dig out my ruby throat album, it fits. cheers, Bec':))