French Queens by Kenneth Decker

On seeing me naked
waxed poetic the photographer:
“Beauty celebrated,
I envision you
naked
running through an aspen forest
outside Montreal
lean animal, long streaming hair,
and chased, yes, chased
by sixty mad French Queens”

To screams of freedom and equality
desecrated were their sacred tombs,
their bones cast to the sunlight,
and their crowns torn
from their dead, anointed heads
for cut stones, metals,
the idea to violate
the persons of the Queens:
they awoke their spirit souls
to haunt the earth
the modern age.
…ancient ermine robes shot gold,
the embroidery of silver stars
and golden suns, the virgin lilies
of the garden gowns of paradise…
…and the blackened tarnish
of their silver laces
filigrees their powdered faces.
Tiny shoes of calf and gold,
the tiny heels of Chinese red,
structured to a Mozart tempo
and a corset choking etiquette…
golden shoes familiar with Savonneries
and fine parquet, the marble stairs
ambassadors ascended, bended kneed…
enchanted suddenly and violently
to new world mad terrain,
New France, New Earth,
New Age, liberated
from the dual prisons: life and death
to chase the naked god-man
through the golden aspen glen…

oh…
not those Queens?
Black leather. I see.