August Golden Shovel #15

She lunges for the iron door, hoping to escape, but she’s

Just too late. She’s drowning in sparkles of dust that rise in a

Tidal wave. Destiny rings a torrent, echoing the shape-shifting

Stars, who beckon a tease. She reverses the artist,

Sloughs off history, whips coins into a froth. Who

Will drink the potion of morning, glory in the plays

That star her lovers? She’s locked in an iron box where all

Her fears braid chains in crimson, cobalt, waiting for the

Moment that ties her in knots, yet unravels all her parts.

 

source: She’s a Shape-shifting Artist Who Plays All the Parts