The Goddess Frida

Unlike some I know...I never spill my wine...I sip it as the dragonfly sips nectar from the bark
Of dogs....and sleep. Oh I can never sleep without the thought..of how
Our meeting made September into June
And every parting was to die...Oh dragonfly...don’t die...Stay forever as a transparent beast
Of Beasts ..and be not like my beastly lover who sucks the very life blood from the veins
Of my white corpse.
Oh I Oh I...so poor of mind and spirit...so poor so poor
I no longer can afford to light my fire...
Behold my spots of poverty...which break out into mauve upon my skin
I see myself ....falling into fragments around my very feet..

Oh lead me not blind hatter to the soothsayer of all doom of dooms...
And lead me not into that gaudy desert
Where those creators of the desert garden..the Gothic and the Wylde
Are known to dance with hacksaws in their teeth...
And squirrels in their pockets.
High on felt as Hatters

Do you like my hat...I spun it from the cobwebs on the floor...
Picking them up...one by one...and adjusting them.

But now my eyes are sinking into an unknown void
And I shall take my leave
And fair Elizabeth...may you enjoy your day...that day of the Goddess Frieda.

Kristine Byrne 14th Dec 2010
A reply to Wylde and Goth’s...Dragonfly