i, too, was a mermaid in the muck, a maiden from the moon,
with banjo on my knee, like any capable wanderer.
in a cove of my own clawing, dug down into the toothsome dark
until shawled in the ambry of night – down there
with naught in the mythical larders i found a subterranean
whimsy – an excursion deep within,
a largesse of love; this philanthropy of self. and ever since,
i’ve been nothing but sun.
a perchance of blackness imbrued in those adorable depths. my
cavernous spirit a vast, yawning ambrosia.
i had to learn to see it, myself for myself; this unambiguous
yearning sprawling within my soul.
neither shameful or slithering in the oil, but glistening. reach into
my scales for umbrageous glamour, for spells
reserved for campfire, the scalding cauldron, several cups of tea;
this petticoat from the ashes.
this slick and heavy indulgence, the mermaid with the frolicking
grasp and dorsal fin and shimmering,
igneous skin. come with me into the trenches; the charmed
pot, this untroubled toil, and be with me,
the fawn with self-reflecting references; the high elegant heels,
the sheer backless gown,
the cumulus afro, the conquering tenderness
that towers over all.