she sits
patiently
illuminated
by the harsh
light of day
in shades of
yellows and brown
stiff backed
upon her throne
gazing blankly
at the peasants
a colony of ants
working themselves
down to the nub
in service
to her highness
seated upon
a throne of
red clay

i have seen
her in moments
of shockingly
cold cruelty
battered by her
icy disdain
and at times of
the tenderest
release as the
clear tears
ran down her
sharp cheekbones
to soak the soil
from which
the bluebonnets
push themselves
to bathe in
the solemn heat
as an arid wind
cuts across her
stern disapproval

she sits
perched ever so
precariously
upon that
rugged throne
her bare toes
dipped into
the cloudy waters
of the gulf
her long hair
whipping in the
howling gales
her sad smile
impervious to the
constant commotion
carries across
her sun tanned skin
to trace the scars
of time immemorial
as the lone star
shines defiantly
in her bottomless eyes

she is alone
in her harsh
and unforgiving
spectral majesty
and i am alone
nestled against
her heaving heart
a remora
swimming amongst
her ivory teeth
picking at scraps
in a reciprocal
self delusion
well aware that she
in her terminal
self absorption
cares not for
a simple fool tracing
her curves with
the nib of his tongue
for she shall remain
long after i have
returned to dust
blowing over her plains