V.
The Queen of California sat stone-still,
her lesbian noblewomen at hand,
sipping golden catfish tea, bone-mill
bubble pipes by their sides. And each Koran
was open, and the women sang at will
and the soft sung prayers thrummed through the canyon,
their practiced chorale voices intertwined,
fugal calligraphic broad strokes combined.
VI.
These women, these near-unclad perfect women
who'd rarely noted the male gaze, mothers,
some, to the children of encroaching men
made love slaves (had the maids their sweet druthers
they'd been spared) and then fed to a griffin.
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