OPAL
her soul
be an opal
every shift and
change does she
then scry
Oh this landscape changes
as crazily but not quite with
the speed
of kaleidoscope patterns
every
mirror playing its part
in this mandala
of a mosaic
And I watch through smoky glass
or crystal
to save my eyes from the
ferocity of eclipse
things so clear once, but
now we guess that clarity
came at the price of
intransigence, the need
for that which
could not
survive exposure
to be parked, obscured,
in some
instances simply hidden
once we
gave ourselves the licence
to call out such practice, challenge
those assumption,
mock and ridicule and
turn the overwrought symbolism
into brute carnival
once we loved
that licence, rebelled in it
but
as she says
as she says
we are not
allowed to read the world this way, see
what we did see
the fiction is
steeped in the so-called
refinement of all Technicolor
poems 2 die for 