I Write, Therefore I Am

Scarlet forged beauty,
a fierce harlot stomping
in combat boots
like a general with a thick
mustache and slicked back hair.

Her soul (a calico pioneer’s
or rococo maiden dress)
molten and simmered down to
elements
cast aside.

On the anvil, a thrashing
beast of breasts and winged
eyeliner and thigh-highs
congealed like the blood
from a corpse.

A Zombie waged war on the
universe, her creation the fittest
weapon on the field,
her demise the fringe of auburn,
lavender, and sunflowers
which poked unrelentingly
from beneath her helmet
of rage and iron.

© Gabrielle Martin 2012 (Poetic-Euphemisms).