It's a (surprisingly) beautiful day this Sunday in bleak old England, so I'm just pulling together the right outfit for a picnic... So far I've got a peacock-feather print dress that hits about half a foot above the knee, black tights and sturdy red heels. Anyway, while I'm waiting for friends to get back to me, yes/no on the picnic front, I'm scribbling. Here's a poem I just wrote. I called it 'Games'.
Dress, corsage: flower of unspoken promises
I’m not a player in this game
Black and white checkerboard
I’m black as black
Moving my pieces
Blood dried over centuries
My weapon bends freely to
My will
I’m the god of war
Lady of Victory
Steel-bright mind
My heart knows
Nothing
I’m not a player in this game
Black and white checkerboard
I’m black as black
Moving my pieces
Blood dried over centuries
My weapon bends freely to
My will
I’m the god of war
Lady of Victory
Steel-bright mind
My heart knows
Nothing
Of love
