September 17, 2021 
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.
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