The Fool
Spent three months
Drowning myself
A dunking test
Into spent shells
Cracked against
An egging edge
Marble top counter
Point wavering
Used up sharps
Thrown reckless
With abandon held
Addiction as art
Nude david vein
Sling impotent
Pulsing his ivory
Foot beckons
A heart of stone
Stupid blind boy
The artist long
Dead but for this
Dream of flesh
Pygmalion spitted
Inside his hand
Mallet poised
Began to swing
The bird circling
A hereditary trick
Breaks a soft neck
Pluck tar feather
Make of an idiot
Slavish fatalism
Ingrown history
Friends of judgement
Heads shaken rye
Ignored warnings
Cradling my snake
Bear our witness
Cassandra pale
Familiar venom
No one to suck
Such slow poisons
Course unhindered
An easy antidote
A withheld cure
No small death
This will be
A symbiotic
Massacre
Cyn Grace Sylvie 