Anxious Leo

Anxious Leo was born in August:

Peridot. 

Paradox.

Paradise. 

She held an auspicious

galactic demeanour—

wearing silky egg-shell

white couture.

Eliminating red from her closet,

it served her nothing

but a glass of bold assumptions.

She entertained her audience  

with captivated singer lungs,

harps, and chords— 

praised with leisure; 

freedom of tongue;

stricken down twice,

it burned the throat

like vodka on toast

for brunch. 

Cheap applauding hands 

reach out to soak her; 

white to white;

eyes to eyes;

bite to bite;

breath to breath;

brigade to brawling

machine gun massaging

mechanical brains

on a mission—

No lungs.

No harps.

No chords.

No song.

No Freedom.

alas, laid down— 

she is born 

a prisoner.