Behold!
The magician’s assistant.
Do not be fooled by her complexion
she is more than decoration.
Tucked in the folds of her habit,
the master’s most secret illusions,
ink collected from ancient lips,
dries like jewelry ‘cross her hips.
She is the golden tome
the magician reads nightly
to escape mundanity.
Her abracadabra eyes
warm the shuffling crowd
that gather as she fans
his favorite deck, a slow arch,
her projection, sheer perfection,
good luck goldfish hopping cards.
She wears the ruffle of royalty,
the open bodice of immodesty.
There is no curtain on her window
no lock for her hocus-pocus key,
and in this smokey parlor,
her narrow body levitates, as
she waits patiently
for the magician to descend.
To hand him his top hat,
apply his gloves, doe-eyed,
then like his hound, exit stage
to give the master space
to wow,
to awe,
to entertain
the overstimulated,
eager crowd.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
The painting is amazing! You said “ink collected from ancient lips,
dries like jewelry ‘cross her hips.” Lovely, sexy!
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Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
Amazing poetry shared by a talented writer.
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Dear Tricia. This is amazing poetry. I want to read this poem again. You brought me in, and you held me to the last word.
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“There is no curtain on her window
no lock for her hocus-pocus key,
and in this smokey parlor,
her narrow body levitates, as
she waits patiently” Love that. The rhythm of these words is so soothing. A magical poem, K.
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Thank you kindly, Jeff. This mystical creature was hanging around for a few weeks, and I decided it was time to try and watch her show. 💜 I think she has more tricks than she lets on.
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Such beautiful rhythm and imagery. I was enchanted.
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Thank you. It’s all slight of hand.🦋💜
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