Still, After The Funeral March

I will be the secret minister of your theater of shadows.
-- Jean Genet


where is the cut rose
for the tulip has died
and all its color has moved
into the gallop of the beast

i feel its hoofed foot
race thru the terrain
of my prison

you sent him to eat the others
to drag the water
to double lock the gate

soon your tongue will
polish my shoulder
soon my mouth will open
to fill your mirror
with hate