Rejoice oh Anne of a Thousand,
Castrate the insolent jutting of the cold, dead factory;
Rejoice oh Anne of a Thousand,
Dig deep in the ground, in Lethe-Wards,
Where the purest water and surest warmth can be found.
Rejoice oh Anne of Thousand;
Like the gray sky, be cold to the cloying of blue touch;
Like Alice gone mad, be rude to the promise of glass;
Like the breast of Medusa, remain unbrushed by the tip
of wing or arrow,
and remain, like the Funereal Hymen,
Unbroken . . .


Collage @Billie T.Stark All Rights Reserved

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