art theorist Shklovsky
25 April 2008
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for my lover
deems you lackluster:
your wing, a dimpled yawn
that ebony beak—stock!
your horns? simply tedious.
he would rage against
your familiar spine.
who can blame him?
a man does not know.
dragon-bird, shy, knife-
feathered anomaly:
do not be ashamed
of your supple crown—
sky-high perch
barely recalled. do not
hide those fingertip-branded
fish-fin ears. there is
wonder in your
weathered waist,
eons of deciduous leaves.
snake-cloud you are
half-named
some mythic beast
every girl dreams.
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