This poem is taken from Stand 215, 15(3) October - November 2017.

Chris Preddle Three Poems
crimson in cramoisy, prefigure
that Love Unfailing, which could yet forgo
a knight who follows and fails, as Lancelot the grail.
She goes through banks of crimson balsam
naked under cramesy. For all my bella figura
the devil Belphegor
numbers me in his prime. Beat me for a Balaam’s ass.
Madonna of the crimson moon I serve
for a saviour, though stars and planets dance like figures of May
for Him Whoever-He-Is.
when sun and mindfulness have left me, let me not misfigure
how I, gathered like may, shall be caressed.

Shirin of Armenia on her road in Persia
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