after Robert W. Chambers’ King-in-Yellow stories
She who serves her Lord
more than any rank courtesan
in His bloodstained seraglio.
She who severs the swollen
filaments of His deranged
desires over and again.
She walks in yellow silk with
gold and bile and stark obituaries.
She who wrenches love from
its appointed assignations
and calls down abominations
on its amputated miscreants.
She whose glittering eyes
once feasted on Antietam.
She dines in yellow and savors
vintage decadence and decay.
She who engineers the screams
of cherubim and retches on the
dreams of diminished artists.
She who expels streams of
insects, piss, and plastique.
She seduces in yellow silk,
aroused by madness and death.
She whose essence is embodied
in feverish yellow jungles,
parched yellow deserts,
in hydrocarbon sunsets,
in the cracked yellow soil of
bombsites and untended graves.
She sleeps in yellow, her blond
mane thick on the pallid pillow.
Appeared in Star*Line
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