The Promising Woman

The promisin’ woman wears the painted veil
In the shadow of the moon
Holding back white lies where the road is steep
To release the black balloon
Folding torn umbrellas sold at garage sales
To bad weather the monsoons.
The queen of flies, tramples blackened sand
Charging out of skeleton rooms,
Uncov’ring broken nests, stripped of pony tales
At the break of midnight noon.
Carrying fallen crests of silver spoons
After hours, entering
The chaos of the changing room.
Rescuin’ recent pasts, now, until the last
Fearful of an undeveloped mourning tune

The Promising Woman

hudson

Kingston Heights, New Zealand

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