Chain mail garters
Anchor the still-life
Demi-goddess to
Twisted-ankle trickery;
Snickering sniveling snitches
Cuff chins by sleights.

Mortals pay homage to
That hoard hummingbird nectar,
Those bons mots coaxed from
Treasonous coils of mocking tongues,
To want the price
Of vice clinching chastity.

Pocket squares squall
Into the Bermuda Triangle;
Erotic vessels enter by
Adolescent rites of passage,
Spawned by lurid mystique…

Stranger seas tossed hand-to-hand
In the mien of No Man’s Land
Between target practices for
Fishermen armed with bayonets;
Cat o’ nine tails as spears.


© Jane Bled 2016-2017
All Rights Reserved.

Three-way © Jane Bled