The Trade
A black haired fair faced
pomaded young man
Rode through the town fast
as he can
Charms were his trade
Visions he made
Hanging from a belt for
him made
Ephemeral sparkling young
man
Gathering barefoot
customers fast as he can
Running there through the
fog
Weeping dew onto the bog
One maiden sat still
-apart on a log
To this black haired
sparkling young man
Raised her face lovely as
a face can
Began her clear voiced
interview
Why their gold coins
accept you
When you know nothing for
them can you do
Begone black haired
pomaded young man
Ride from this dream
trampled field fast as you can
As she spoke into his hair
a sticker it fell
Small and sharp from the
truth tree they tell
This last part dreamy with
blur and confidential as well
Into that black hair the
sticker burrowed deep, burrowed true
Until each purloined wish,
glistened coin, each dream, tumbled returned anew
In the field outside
Traded Town
Walked the fresh fair
faced maiden ebon hair tumbled down
Smiling at the bounty of
all their returned loot
Pulled on soft one by one,
a shimmering ride to town boot
Lifted onto his left
behind steed, black hair gleaming with
ransacked pomade
Now, a black haired fair
faced pomaded maiden ready from inside to trade
*********************************************************************************
Fourteen
In the land of ransacked,
the small sisters lied head to foot piled into the bed back to back. As night
fell across their packed rest the eldest fourteen at the best rose, washed at
the basin and walked on arched feet out into the fog, hair like silken
blanket on bared shoulders, into the street of calling customers, weeping
confidential visions into her ransacked charms - as the night fell each one
onto the other, into and out of her, as the eventual dawn fingered the sky - head high coins of trade pocketed she returned to the bed where small sisters
stirred in still sweet slumber and picked a sticker from her shoulder licking the drop of
blood from her salty finger tip.