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Paul Grimsley

Ophelia’s blood storms through water:
The fluid petals cloud and shift
And flowers form in the monochrome drift;
Through turns of thought as shaded as a Hamlet’s
Melanchroic fragments like murders of crows accrue,
The sun turned chrysanthemum bloom in funereal skies
Wears a veil of clouds to darken and cast a pall.
The veil torn, the curtain pierced, Polonius in revelation snared --
Fate is a dog behind the door waiting with fangs bared.
The dream attacked the skull and bony chambers sang
As through a disintegrating prince’s mind a jester’s laughter rang:
Madness blooms belladonna black and sours the tongue.

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