Well-Lit (#1692)

He was my magic sun

–and I, his abracadabra

“lovely” assistant in too small gown

working on spec,

I made sure he shone and glittered…

–honing hocus-pocus

& bait & switch

with absolutely

no slap & tickle

–I attended in the void.

He was my magic sun

–the pulley man for his own curtain

shady fact to which I blinded myself

–I was the woman behind scenes

created in his image & for it,

a backdrop of heart and soul

I was a revolving wheel in line with pitched knives

–a target discarded under fire.

He was my magic sun

–and I, the woman he sawed in half

for gaping audiences filled w shills

& indentured admirers

–spirit destined for decimation & dissemination

I wasn’t even a sacrifice.

the fabulous and faithful thrown from stage

in bloodless bath,

I became the 3 breasted woman

–and bearded—

for that time

(of ridicule)

by flat-earthers

(unaware of subtext)

& tie-a-yellow string theory …

I was …

I was …

I was the magic sun

–and he forgotten charm

an encore shelved & sealed off

from white rabbits

& neat, hatted men…

he was the heckler

–fronting rose

(with chameleon’s adaptive coloration)

of disbelievers.