Over the last few months I have been working very hard inventing a new poetic form. The Emperor’s Crown is a 45-sonnet acrostic composed of three linked Heroic Crowns. Is it ambitious? Yes. Am I insane? Yes. But if I didn’t try it, who would?
Reducing bodies to dust, the matter of graves,
Entropy disperses us when we’re not looking.
Noticing the way her large breasts sag, the skin
Developing wet-tissue webs across the cleavage,
The broken beauty frets her rare lucidity away.
Here in a house that renders few distractions she
Engages the oval cherry-wood mirror in a
Struggle for a soothing truth it cannot relay.
Her eyes, the same cool Icelandic shade as ever, her hair
Arranged in a mushroom-cap about her elfin face.
Cupping those breasts which nourished two children, she
Knows that youth has fled her, untried and untasted. The
Life she wanted, and briefly had, ruptured as her matter.
Eternity is turning her to meat-dust.