Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Ballad of Darlahood
The great hope, from old numbers,
is that I will be able to pick out my own tanker boots,
and those in power will kiss my ass,
whose laws I spit
Dingle me with laughing sandwiches.
Fear not the rape,
Nothing is more powerful, lovable,
as tanker boots and toe-nail polish.
Such passions quibble around my heart.
Your rings and clams make no difference now.
Stones and tyrants,
the same thing.
The same dynasty exactly!
I'm famous now; I've joined the groups of gods
(in my flip flops and painted fingers).
Ha Ha! I was caught red handed,
a noose slipped over my neck,
a stag on my shoulder and a penny in my pocket.
Seven hearses in a row,
a cloaked frog in the gunpowder box.
I reached my hand in the velvet bag for my set of orange pearls.
I rev up the engine to the speed of a few angry Achaeans.
And we roll onward to sunset west,
and wait for the next space light to hit tombstones
across the South,
navigating through the sea.
We are blessed with red,
red, red, red,
and deep blue waters
and crystal doorknobs
No more furies for the oldest of warriors.
The mansions are brimming with great grandchildren.
A painting casts shadows on the wall.
A bare foot steps on the marble stair.
A hand touches my cheek, my lips.
Pink lace drawers,
and pink lace crinolines.
I sit on the bed alone, and wait for my blessings to start.
I walked through valleys of rosebushes,
"I'll never see that house again.
I'll never see that house again."
Even though doors and windows were left open for me to crawl through.
"I could still be in the palace, even now".
I'll never see that house again.
So, do I damn my own good fortune?
Wrap my feet in binding slippers,
cut my fingers and prickle my breasts,
for the sake of trunk rooms and secret closets?
This is the Narnian descent.
The Narnian intent.
Kill all those palace usurpers.
Kill them first,
then toss the virgins out the window into cold, hollow seas.
Fiends and villains will swoop upon them,
pick them up
and carry them home,
to boughs in trees
with moss for sheets and leaves for pillows.
Old Man Oak, why do you want her so?
She holds the whole band of house pirates in her pockets.
If the prophet refers to one man that will come down upon her,
powerful he must be,
depending upon the situation.
Apollo only knows what will happen once they fall asleep.
"Pray my champion, Godspeed inside me."
Frogs crept along the alleyways.
My yellow fog has turned to pink.
I come with prayers and offerings.
"O sweet Athene, I beseech thee to give me Apocalyptic daggers, swift and true,
and bullet proof vehicles with dark windows that can speed upon vacant highways
faster than sixty miles an hour.
I leave you with gazpacho color #51 red polish and Blue Lagoon #33.
Give me and my kinsmen best Armageddon wishes and set all good hoods free!~"
"This is the palace, stranger. She's inside.
But here is her king, her husband, and the father of her children.
What will you say to the man who found Darlahood in her overgrown tower and desolate city? What will you say to the one who uprooted her from one palace to set her gently in another?"
The Ballad of Darlahood, is a Gothic cautionary tale by Darla Nunnery.
Posted by Unknown at 2:18 AM