Tear the starlight from every gutter, you said.

I want the stinging hue of crystal gone,
from the shoe-blackened pit of shady night.

Laughter ensued from my stellar throne. I?
I move the stars for no one.
Imperious, aloof. The Seven Sisters are my attendants,
Betelgeuse: my muse.

You would have me
push the heavens from their ancestral seats and
rip the arctic flares from my ebony tresses! Cast
away that frosted crown, as a frenzied revolution
plagued fire over the celestial rime that covers
my heart.

No.

I turn a cruel profile to your ruddy demands, though
I know your armies gather to smash my cold gates asunder.
A steeled smile embellishes my lips. No.
To the echoing halls I say, keep your churlish advances,
my glassy chambers know you not.

Oh, and yet....

In a dark, elderberry place, I see
I would gladly rid the universe of blazing spheres,
platinum scratches, pinprick lanterns
and ethereal music for just one chaste caress....

Never. In my sparkling case I dwell,
clinical in diamond splendour. Cut beads
of Carbonite; my lusty treasure. I want for no man.
In my calculated stubbornness, I shall not bend the cosmos
for you know, as well as I,

I move the stars for no one.

02/15/2004

Author's Note: Sometimes they ask for too much.

Posted on 02/15/2004
Copyright © 2024 Sarah Brookes