A red drummed against

 

wooden floorboards.
The

                      squelch of torn tendons softens my step.

 
 
 

                              They´re aching
under my feet. there are
                 dead bodies scattered
everywhere. Sweat of rage has
                    no grace from a deity
of a swollen sun.
                 swallow faces curl
into               the clouds.




 

A yellow

tassel                                                                                        

hangs from the floating
palanquin.               

 
 
 
 

                                                                                 Magenta silk flails
from the outskirts of his throne.

 

A conjuring Silk Road sticks her tongue out.

                                                             Cold-

blooded as she is a viper

 
 

Faraway—I´m closer to a seat
of white hay. 

 

 Guards


drag me from the awning of                                            
                                         wealth                              
                                    to a vassal state,                              
from its courtyard to its deathbed.                             

My boots
scuff on grains of oscillating light, glinting
from                                                    
the points on their swords.
             

 
 
 

 Monsters of sun-soaked beads
and tea leaf pearls
twinkle
at the edge of my ear

The wooly plumage of


                                       my bundled blankets,
                                                                                               gone to        the
dusk of lilac.   

A colour of today
           bloodies the air in my lungs.

Now I see,
                            My father and his country are chained to the wall.

 I went with the fall—to

 

  my knees  

   at the sight.
blood-tempted beasts
had
gouged
his          tongue
his              eyes
his              ears

His sound.


dusted
flecks of

 

fractural and
ornate memories.

 
 

Bandages wrung his blood

                                                  like painted fire.
Rubies                          curled
                                                  into
the open sockets of his eyes 
               Swollen wrists from metal shackles and a smell of rotting     

 

I could only
desperately
identify myself with the scar on my forearm.


 Red draped
over
the soot of his burnt         tears.
Against
soft petals of
the wilting sun,
his

 


body was starting to fail.                                                                                                   

 He was contorting,
into night´s shade.


                                                     Moonlight spun
                                                     a web around
                                                   my escape
                                                              to the stars
                                              in my next life,








 
 
 
 
 
 

I can only pray to the daphnes of spring. Shifting the marred hay under
me, I nestle the yellow around my father´s body.
Cacooning
            him in
            what was left of us.

 



Before
they set our prison cell on fire

 

 

 

 




 

I screamed ´FIRE, FIRE´

and got the silence of everything.




Magenta silk flails around me,

wrapping me
in this room.

I burn alive.
in coldness,     
a heart sits next
to me on
that
white seat.