Bleached-white feathered tiara, never browned
By murky mundane dishwater blonde hair,
Rides downed long neck and ballerina
Encompassing wide-spread legs, lightly bounds
Across the sky. Stale waters linger around
Monolithic piers, wrestling livid lines
Of traffic, toiling toward their despair
Tire of hectic, meandering, ticking sounds.
I, too, intend to rise above this mire,
Embrace my fate: ready, willing and trained.
I await only your blessing on this quest,
Which I see will be denied me. The dire
Circumstances here below have profaned
Your perfection. I am what you detest.
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