Deep set eyes,in a face soured,/deflected to the side,/raised skyward,tears welling,/then,there’s those washed away./A spirit with a purpose,broken,/in a portrait of creams and browns./The queen remaining,/by the knife of the senses/her crown dulled by fear./Never seduced, or captured,/holding court in grays/the selfsame grimace,/on her dying day.
Maria Theresa: A Likeness
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Poetry in Motion 