Poems for V.14
Voice Card  -  Volume 14  -  Stuart Card Number 4  -  Fri, Jun 1, 1990 7:02 AM

In this installment of The Body Bestiary, we return to the grand antagonist of this fairy tale world, The Duchess of Moisture. The first poem I will share with you is a dialogue between her and the one she loves, Moonlight. The poem is entitled "A Reminiscence of Early Loves: Why Moonlight Moves Across the Sky". (Once again, you'll want to expand the text field to full screen so that the lines of poetry don't get smooshed up):

	Duchess:	That long, still-sweetening memory -- as my army defined Itself and gathered round me mottled and sieve- Like as a mackerel sky, I took you to my castle, mine; I led you. . . my archers woman the walls, my slaves The elves sing, as you touch the folds of my skin. . . ; oh, All this I remember now like yesterday. . ."
	Moonlight:	I loved you, when I first saw you through the bowed Branches as you slept and I thought, "just to lay Alongside you!"; I loved the way your skin scent, Like ferns in the summer forest, soothed my shrill Voices shouting, "Homeward, I'm coming"; so I went I go, among night skies looking for the will To stop, rest; I felt that in your arms. . .
	Duchess:	So come, love, come, and let me kiss away your storms. . .
	The next poem in the sequence is all written in The Duchess of Moisture's voice. Much of the motive force for much of the action in this fairy tale world occurs when Moonlight abandons The Duchess for another, The Princess Waterfall. In the following poem, The Duchess of Moisture tells the narrator of the sequence, Uncle Caterpillare "How She Fell in Love With and Grew to Hate Moonlight": "I couldn't stand my love loving someone Other than me; I can't unfasten the stays Of my love, my burning for this anti-sun; I can't for all my tide's longing. . . ; O, the ways Of moonlight -- I remember when I let The lambent seashore sigh of us rise -- sing Your dirge of desire, Weaver; my wet Body stroked by him, I loved, in the swaying Concupiscence of rain, as my return; how Could you know such sweetness? He lay me down and kissed The slit that rings my thighs -- how could you know, Weaver, hidden by morning, my summoned mist, His entering -- how could you know the first time?. . . Well, I'm not some schoolyard whore. . . he is mine. . ."