My braids swim
With moat alligators
Who love such tinsel
Brushing their backs.
My beauty is mechanical,
A hairless clock or hairy
Cabinet. My mood purples
In a stable. None dare
Approach unless beastly,
Chaliced, jewel groined.
I am processioned by rats,
We walk into a country
Of men who eat live fish
And trees who sink
Into the soil at night.
Queen wants me look up
At her from the cloth.
Rather eat my own rag.
My mind is wet, I touch it.