As Friends or Food

I’m required by sadness and liars and gnomes
to aspire to madness in a choir of thrones.
I’ve had this burning desire
to climb just nine worlds higher,
to not grieve for the pale sea
which somehow now surrounds both your side and me,
but to learn to breath here, and seethe here,
until we’ve both finally kicked free –
So, swinging wild from the eves, I still exclaim,
“Come Insane! The mundane deceives!”
(No, be not deceived
by these wee cuff linked thieves in autumn’s leaves,
with all our missing magic captured tragically up their sleeves.
Don’t believe this or you’ll leave this,
our first and most beautiful dream,
one I know I can still sow and help to grow and so NO,
I won’t just go, at least, not peacefully.)

It screams out to me from the muddy bonds
of a weave that still deceives and entangles you and, yes,
even me...

I, who crave distinction with the old djinn,
primordial souls, horned foals, and dragon kin
and those few fae courts that may still cavort
inside their shrinking fairy rings.
Know that I may have to rise on the wide wings of even deeper things
who might swallow my soul whole, spit it out into their magic bowls,
having carried me, ferried me, to dine with their starving kings,
but if so, don’t cry for me. Oh, my poor lover. Oh no, please;

I’d be so much freer, you see, as that gaunt titan’s last meal,
than to feel it all here alone, a lost and droning memory.

 
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