nesting dolls
'so free her, so free her, so free her...'
“I never understood why she wasn't more famous; such an exquisite voice.” — YouTube comments
I saw what happens to a rose once you clip its daffodil wings, the bees swarm
over your arms and hands, batting against the fall of another pointless night, their soft wings nothing more than soft irritation
whoo, hoo, hoooooooooo
many nesting dolls topple within me —
one wishes to bake bread for homeless children hiding in the corner store between post alley and pike place proper (where they shuttle the gentle harvest at midnight), another wants nothing more than to triple the dose, cripple your cages, slap that nodding, plastic face until a woman cries out in real pain and
reveals herself
like the monster
she really is
like a song
you just can’t keep
I see
can you?
we are meant to run along the ala wai canal, past beaches and beached ruins, to a driving, rhythmic rain that softly slopes and glides past a forgotten hit, the voices of many lock in key with one, bronze legs, sepia gazes, and the breath of fire
free
so free
her
itty bitty men without the means
chase these unfettered beauties, wild horses rushing through bramble and golden fields
until they, too, are forgotten, stacked, and nested
dolls in gilded and not-so-gilded cages