Untitled

by Claudia Martinez

Tuesday January 22, 2008

The scaled wings of the fire-eyed moth
Singed at the tips.

Death is better served on a platter,
sliver screened for
Purposeless, hopeless reminders of the
less forgotten sky’s queen
Assassinated by the scene, in rubble,
Crumpled, hopeless death served stiff
On a dish of greens, moths, and dreams
Singed at the tips- new Orleans, what,
new Orleans
Oh what does it mean? a green-faced
scene,
Tattered pair of shiny dreams,
Cry for new Orleans, poor new Orleans.
The foot of a shoulder-apt man, caught
in the rain,
A cloaked, soaked man with a
gravel-stained name
Dissipated behind cloudy blue-
(he was there for the Mardi Gras)
tooth shaped miss watched shiny
soled-king,
Laughing at the scene-
Assassinated by the queen,
In the eye of the blue- toothed tiger sky,
A bucked tooth solider with a vessel-
death dream,
A holy vessel foot striped bare.
What could it mean, oh, what could it mean?