, , ,

the tea taste bitter to

the wilting monarch.  She looses

her glasses and runs into

the market because she is

following her dog.  The spices

don’t offer her any images and she

remains lost.  The people have never seen

her, they didn’t know their

queen, they couldn’t save her.

Her child jumps off the bridge to asia

and she follows it, barking, she

is barking.  The noise is echoing

up the bosphorous, but

she hasn’t fallen yet, the

cars don’t stop, they don’t

know their queen, they hand’t noticed her.