Rachel Sleeps In Eden

Joan set sail, Rachel sleeps in Eden, Anastasia frolics in spring fields.
I am shifting in the wind, dandelion seed cast about, in winter yields
the flower of blue and death, the breath of life in the cold and dark.
I wait for another angel, another hero, another North Star to be a spark.
Brie drinks wine, tells stories, while I sit at her feet, stroking her knee.
Emma will dance tonight, some old fashioned jag, at the old Armory.
Maybe a piece will fall in, a third piece of that star I need to find hope.
I’ll follow a woman straight into the pits of hell, pretty eyes a sacred dope.
A woman to dance with, even as they change, the music changes, it shifts.
Friends leave, dreams crumble, and all the faces I paint are tattered rifts.
I chat up Kristen at the bar, low key like me, she asks for change and a smoke.
I have no cigarettes, but only a tarot deck, because fate has never once spoke.
And, I find myself at the end of the night, alone in an overgrown field, weeping
as I realize all that glory is dead light, no one takes a bow when death is creeping.
A face in starlight, just to chase fireflies and keep them in a jar, glitter in my room.
They blink go out, and the darkness falls, nothing else, loss the debt of the womb.

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