A Coined Tenure, Act II

Elaria the Circus

    1 Bachelorette
    Singular in purpose it could have been presumed,
    she scrubbed only floors on her knees
    and she ran her own fibers into string.
    Tedious work in which she was consumed,
    seeing to other people’s needs;
    but each new daybreak, could fortune bring.

    2 Breaking Out
    September brought knowledge and books to mind,
    she whittled shoes from old planks
    to make sandals in style of the bards.
    While she listened to tunes and learned how to bind,
    imagining climbing the ranks,
    she befriended all of the guards.

    3 Culinary Art
    Vague was in vogue but seasonings couldn’t be dull;
    for, to taste was the textbook preparation,
    epidemics of flavors to blend.
    Admiral, guest of honor with his belly full;
    his lips parted only for salvation,
    occasion for champagne at shepherd’s end.

    4 Career Organism
    Collecting in the ledger was every scheme
    she’d authored: her own, but no other’s lives;
    maintaining separation, encoded.
    Verified through lenses, she surrendered her dream
    to anyone who’d falter before her, to scrutinize;
    to keep her code of conduct devoted.

    5 Appalled
    “Reality is the rudest of mistresses,” she oft said,
    yet she’d bow her head to the men who collapsed
    into husks before her feet.
    “No harm is meant, don’t die; just play dead,”
    an instruction to them whose sanity lapsed
    when they knew not a heartbeat.

    6 Articulation
    Lessons in speaking outside of tongues,
    climbing from outcast to caste hardly known:
    shared in crowns of wax stamps.
    Letterhead earned, ascending the rungs,
    a magnet of envy sucking fame from what sown,
    taking liberties to revise under lamps.

    7 Disappearing Act
    Stepping back to stare through a glass,
    immune to any mirror bartered,
    she chose silence to ready her fire.
    None knew which tests she passed or failed in class,
    refusing by all means to be martyred,
    disarming all devices with her mire.

    8 Minimum Wager
    If thought was a sin, she timed herself a plea
    so with the hourglass upended,
    nobody would stifle her plans.
    No gamble could be made with this squalor sea
    but desperate men descended,
    thoughtlessly casting dice from their hands.

    9 Executive
    In her ends, no language could deny her sovreignty-
    a sea that can’t be bothered,
    in threat of tsunami to be crashed through firmament.
    No siren can lament like any other with dignity,
    knowing what to deny of what offered;
    overcoming anguish is one’s own chosen sacrament.

 

2005-03-31 04:26:28 @305LJ – A. C. Hierarchy (pseudonym for Katrina Kidwell Johnson)