"I want to be a living work of art!"
With satanic slouch she slinks and glides
Through Venice with leashed cheetahs at heel.
No high-stepping dandy but slender sister
Of the weird, trailing flared scarf behind her
With long tasseled cane and inky eyes
That heap scorn on the mundane to stunning
Effect: how brazen her entrance, casting
Aside all Belle Époque frills in favor of furs
That smother and widow’s weeds mantling
Such rare exotic substance, making fine
Execution of formidable impression. What
Dangerous rituals comprise her toilette?
Arsenic pollen dusts her wax skin. Her eyes
Swim in deadly nightshade-wide staring orbs
That shut close the gates to inner sanctum
Guarded by blackamoor, mastiff, gilded servant.
See netted in the spread of her feathers
Gleeful intent to jar the foolish into marble
With that fixed stare, the eyes that bore,
Or to disquiet the hapless with diabolical grin.
She passes abandon in a narcotic brume,
Sipping absinthe from her lengthened cane,
Then off to Rome, and Paris, and Golgotha,
Off to chilly intrigues in queer palatial ruins.
Her dramatic flair ensnares helpless gawker
Who take delightful fright at her fiendish figure.
Snake tongue wets vivid lip of blood and flame.
Screeching monkeys pick at her saffron hair.
And the wild beasts on jeweled leash make
Perfect pet to this prowling animal-tamer,
Tamer of chattering menagerie and flamingo
Feathers that remain unruffled, aflame.
In long slit skirt and satin, lady of the orchid
Unsheathes sharp claw to grip bid for immortality.