i want to be your bee keeper,
a hive of secrets,
smooth unspoken honey-slicks.
i am one of snow white's dwarves,
whistling with my pick ax,
mining up quarrels.
scattered between rubies and jade,
i'm chopping out lumps of sass,
refining bickerments.
i have one of those overt names.
the white cloud-plateaus ahead look so much like icebergs ripping out of this skate-stark cotton lake, i am half afraid to crash through them and feel nothing but wet. they look like whales, bellowing and rearing, frozen and soft-frosted.
i want brilliance,
i aspire to be brilliant.
i catch little glimpses of it scurrying across other brows, skipping across them like tightrope walkers frightened of falling.
i don't want to imagine tangles to solve, i want to find tangles already unsnarling themselves and record what i see. i'm no bloodhound, just an immobile eye.
the whales are one crocodile, a kindred spirit, newborn. newborn. when was the last time anything was born in this town? we've all been elderly, growing, growing, grone.
you there!
i'm warning you, i've got my pick ax and six ugly midgets!
i demand to be right.
all hail the brain queen,
inerrant erin.
small wonder with squabble the nights away.
i'd cut out my tongue to love more purely. i don't want to drag my treasures all over the city on a bus. my nails are purple with cold, and this the fourth day of summer. i'll never be called snow white again. adios, hassle-men. i'm going to live with king arthur in the valleys that didn't go with the wind. why does he always have so many dance partners anyhow? it's not as if he keeps time.
