Dysnomia, spirit of Lawlessness,
Comes amongst us in her human form,
Pale skin over taut, excited muscle
Graven with words and images.
Ancient symbols from a forgotten past;
Modern icons; a living iPhone,
Carved by men with calloused hands
Who've borne the world's weight in their hearts;
Inked by men who traded knife for needle,
Dwelling in their prison cells;
And once, importantly, by a woman
Heavy with child and dark with betrayal
Who wrote her history in a single word.
Dysnomia: pale skin and red lips
That speak such pretty words
That somehow spread sedition.
Dysnomia: wild hair and piercings
Who whispers to the world's Rapunzels
That the prince is only half a man
And they should steal his horse and flee.
Dysnomia: whose grey eyes shine
With the brightness of the Holy Fool.
The spirit of lawlessness winks
As though she's read our fev'rish minds.
Turning, she leaves with the confidence
Of knowing none can stop her.
For a moment, in the doorway
She doubles, and two women step apart
And then she's gone, to show the world