Once the initials of the kingdom
are carved in bittersweet dalliance,
the Queen eats only fleurs-de-lis,
continuous abalone of a suave persuasion,
an occasional valence of mass hysteria.
Often we have heard her lemming
in the raw corn silk of the night
-- argumentative Gatling, endless
whalebones, meretricious knees --
all of the lady in sly concoction,
irreparable as the bare velocity
of her bodice-torn meat.
And this we know and this we are,
camouflaged and flogged by sleep,
as if the rain that seeps along
the flowering crevices
and streaked crenelations
of Cyclopean warriors, proud
to serve Her Majesty's exposed
exaltations, could actually feed
the dark and mouthless children
who defile the square.
Bruce Boston has received the Bram Stoker Award, a Pushcart Prize, the Asimov's Readers' Award, and the Grand Master Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. He is the author of forty books and chapbooks, including the novel Stained Glass Rain and the forthcoming collection Flashing the Dark: Forty Short Fictions (Sam's Dot, 2006). For more information, please visit his website. His favourite fruit is breadfruit... Particularly the dark rye.