Usurper

Unleash the backbone waterfall ––
the dragon’s spine,
the frothing white-rock nodes
precise with swirl and blast ––
and wind and rush and finish him!

He haunts me masked and foul
as I start my day
my chocolate coffee way ––
my hair, my hayspun gold
unrolled to softest ringlets.
Black oily green
the shine of all his feathers.
And I close my eyes,
my cold cries to avoid seeing him
in the mirror behind me.

Stop him.
One shot bright fired
can kill an enemy’s heart,
and the dragon will help
and myself admired.
Release the dragon
for my coffee shivers,
useless, dying,
and my hair begins to brown ––
earth and cocoa ––
and where are my ringlets?
Where is my crown?

I have crept out at night 
and watched him try it on,
preening the jade below the diamonds.
But my protest always drowns
surround my throat:
water and blood and choke and confounded mud.
And there is no way to touch him either,
regain what is mine.

So I have dined on barf and cabbages today
(my hair, my damp-brown hay),
and strangled him in my mind’s eye.
And my eyes are black.
And the time has come 
to dragon him
and steal everything back.