Monday, April 20, 2009

Madame Butterfly

The words fell in harsh cruel
staccato, mocking
a saint who planned
to be crucified
in a garden of lotus.

The chink of kimono
echoed in pattern
as the rosary chanted
it's sorrowful gloom.

Who art thou
in lust and preach,
hidden in the mysteries?

Stiletto and nylon
danced upon
your nonsense,
the whipping chill
in hard white peaks.

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