Hidden assassin, that’s the myth
but this is blatant battle.
There are hands everywhere
to slash, to throttle
reaching through the canvas.
I know your stories, that’s the trouble
I do not know your heart.
Behind the slatted violet paint
others are coming to the sacrifice
with knives, with violence
dancing the Charleston
with infinity in their palms
slouching towards another birth.
Mandy Mourning/ Repulsive Rapunzel,
sliding through time, piece by shining piece,
folded like a deck-chair, your hanging life a thread
How can you crawl away in those shoes?
Who will paint your struggle now that bloodied stump is floored?