you will receive the glory
of the distinctiveness of the world.
All obscurity will flee from you.
Bride of Frankenstein by Pochta mail:
steep a Vuitton heel the desert hides.
The monitor strips her cheek of cast-off meat;
a hair-claspbroken, dangles incomplete
from a torn-out, dyed-blonde, split-end hank
drenched with blood and Pinot Blanc.
Girtab stalks the constellated sand
between the fingers of her milky hand.
As above, so below; the sun
seeks striking vengeance. Both the hunters run.
Black Artemisian, Rex Squamata,
seeks husband, father, killer, martyr.
If you've any comment on this poem, Nigel Holt would be pleased to hear from you.