Sunday, September 28, 2014

Adonis' songbird

Adonis is ill tonight, bleak is this music
devoid of any meaning, it is the songbird's fault
the songbird cuts her vocal cords
one by one, two for the lumps that grow on throats like cankers on trees
the third for the leftovers of her voice
she hangs them over Adonis' head, like washing  to ward off the evil eye
far from his hay-and- flower ornamented bed, she tries to restrains
the pairs that give him their blueness and gradation of yellow
Adonis is ill tonight and she pleads with her body;
pleading cranberries, pleading the river, pleading the tunes she sings
for a calmer woodland and a softer moon. Adonis may sleep well away from the wild boars.
 Her Adonis is ill for the night and she can only squeeze his hand 
and dance around the fire they light, together at many instances
Adonis is terribly ill for the night and she's already given him her voice
because she had nothing better to offer, nothing more precious to the
bright-feathered, bedside tethered songbird.

Picture credits: Peter Paul Rubens c.o. Google Art collection.

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