Jezebel

She pulls her silver in patient ripples,

stringing adhesive wire from spoke to spoke,

clasping one circumference

and another, and dizzily, giddily around, another.

She draws her compass on the morning air

and balances the geometry of lines and lies.

Her lair complete, she slides

to center throne, and hides,

commanding Fortune's Wheel, alone.

Concentric circles snag a subject's stupid eye;

Advancing, she enrobes him in a daze of lace,

embracing her baffled puppet vassal-fast.

A zephyr sighs.

Her kingdom, rocking gently, swells.

Hushing, soothing, in elaborate grace,

she twists him

in hypnotic peace

and sings a lullaby as he dies.

Around the carport

a man swished his broom monotonously--

like a menacing pendulum counting down,

spotted a giant fresh filmy wheel,

and, grunting, broke it,

wrapped, around the broom.

Glinting as he hung the tool,

she waltzed along one dangling chain

and fat, malignant, spun again.

--CJW--