04-15-2017, 03:32 PM
Tamara
This book is a city, a cage, a woman, Queen of a Kingdom.
The walls, covered in signs and messages, directions
and holes, are pages you turn to decipher the news
of quelled rebellions, exiled husbands who attack
backed by Turkish forces, the state of the markets,
harvests, and banks. Victory belongs to eyes like
fresh water pearls from an Oriental river.
Above the river on a bleak crag broods a tower,
ancient, rocky. Light glows at night from the top
like sympathy, a huge room holds a billowy bed,
a woman, beauteous, who lies legs spread, waits
for a traveler to ensnare. She’s also a virgin.
She calls “Farewell”. The traveler leaps into the river
or takes wing. Her voice is the voice of a woman, a city,
a cage, a Queen, the voice of an unopened book
in the library that is this world, faint weeping, tender
and sweet.
This book is a city, a cage, a woman, Queen of a Kingdom.
The walls, covered in signs and messages, directions
and holes, are pages you turn to decipher the news
of quelled rebellions, exiled husbands who attack
backed by Turkish forces, the state of the markets,
harvests, and banks. Victory belongs to eyes like
fresh water pearls from an Oriental river.
Above the river on a bleak crag broods a tower,
ancient, rocky. Light glows at night from the top
like sympathy, a huge room holds a billowy bed,
a woman, beauteous, who lies legs spread, waits
for a traveler to ensnare. She’s also a virgin.
She calls “Farewell”. The traveler leaps into the river
or takes wing. Her voice is the voice of a woman, a city,
a cage, a Queen, the voice of an unopened book
in the library that is this world, faint weeping, tender
and sweet.