Damn the will. The day’s blotterhas given up the dead:a girl’s name and alleged act of treason.A wooden chair for her to sit,should her location be revealed.The plume, a plane, a vintner’s glass,the sprocket in a mechanic’s bag of tricks.I’d rather the search befor something regal than the alternative,a girl in a faded blue dress and a stitchof remorse along the hem. Her...
The Queen’s Bonfire
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