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Valley of the Dolls
Surrealism reigns in the valley
Of the dolls, which are not of
Chemical binding but of
Femininity suppressed
By our Victorian veils and gentile idealism,
This brings us our loves and our closeted fears,
To ultimate absolution and
Mutual abandonment in our final hours.
In your beauty you brought me the gift
Of realization for the divine which I denied and
Blamed for the stains of pain we both saw at the hands of
Society in our hybrid bodies,
two women with masks,
our own true faces,
or your masculine name, powerless after all.
Still those solitary dancers glowed when you
stroked your tongue against
Insecurities,
absolving guilt and despair for the just.
Lines had riddled your face but I know
Your fate as you had explained to me in times of cosmic revelation:
Your body, its gender, its race, would be taken but you would be free.
They would not have your
Soul and I know you never caved to your greatest promise,
This life of denial to swing you forward towards peace.
The crossing roads of the next lives are where I will meet you
Again in passing or keep,,
embodied in these guises,
encasements of a biometaphysical
pulse.
As you were exposed for those all
To see what lay deep within us to bring it to the surface,
of misplaced genitals and all out of drag,
Shame as it lay on your back
on the way to your martyrdom.
In this Aquarian Age cusp of
The digital church and the chains breaking free
From engendered mannequins calling out
in tongues.
Or in my dreams where crosses burst into flame at the heart of my childhood
where you died
with your corpse unbound,
as we imagined you living,
breaking into wailing upon the revelation
of a fate which
echoes statistic anomalies of
oppression.
All these parables tumble over each other in
divine repetition for the life you denied
in all but recognition
of a woman who carried herself solidly into
The valley and dissipated into the setting sun,
on the horizon.
