Skull by “Diane”*

Once you romanced me
with false wine
whined with your demands
that I ended forever
cursed you as I still do, now

I’m gonna dance on your grave,
the swamp where I buried half a body,
my ballet halfhearted
like that whooping crane there
where no insects but you, Fred
remain in the water dead

Turned into a bird
by a witch
I think the crane
is an enchanted prince
who twitched at me
like it’s odd that
I dance with an evil man’s skull
in my hand-maiden’s hand, but
I can rock a cranium
empty of soul

I am swamped with a rhythm
rolling over my head
haunted by your headless corpse

Charming whooping crane,
shall we dance
or shall I kiss a frog.
Where is your witch
for us three
to whoop it up
in a death splash
across the swamp
padding the lilies
in guilt
so I can tear up every leaf
that has grown from
Fred’s foul stalking detritus

I can get off on
this dance, but
just get off and
get out of my soul
get off the earth;
how could’ve you
fouled my will with
your savage stalk
grown from evil flush

We curse you Fred
forever, evil too big
a mystery to forgive, and
death deserves you where
there is no end to revenge
pain lingering so, even
as I try to dance away
a memory with no end
—- *”Diane”: Words of a female narrator written by Douglas Gilbert (fiction)
(Henry Le Châtelier)

Poetry Books By Douglas Gilbert