“Madame’s Turn” in Fever

I have read Fever, #2 of The Chemical Garden by Lauren DeStefano.  Suffice it to say (for now) that I loved it!  I plan to do a real book review soon, but I’ve been forced to put it off by my brain’s obsession with wanting to write Fever-inspired poetry. Naturally, the first subject is Madame!

“Madame’s Turn”

     Her world turns,

                                              -sweating scents.

    Reds, Greens, Lilac,

                                              -castoff innocence.

   Tilt up to the stars

                                        drug-over the ground

                                       where lust’s bargains sound.

 

 

Lights, twirls, giggles,

                                             -a happy, young picture.

    The fairground is old.

Illusions are told.

Hers is the life with the time to unfold

                                            (So why miss  her?)

 

 

Youth’s here to steal

                                           The whole world knows.

                                         But, with some, the fee grows.

Only death’s claim is real.

A circus of girls to show She shouldn’t feel.

 

 

 

 

The atmosphere’s Hers,

All perform to her thrall,

Men buy,

                     men come,

                                               they pay money for

 (Madame’s girls.)

Flesh spies,

                          blood thrums,

                                                           Madame says, “Ze l’amour.”

(The opiates start to unfurl.)

 

 

 

 

Colors swirl along the ground

heat and life with each pound

(of Madame’s shows.)

                                                             Cushions litter,

                                                             drugged-eyes glitter,

All the orb’s writhing hard, to absorb Madame’s rose.

 

 

 

 

Wheel comes up.

                                                          Madame’s skin-cold.

Warmth’s in the girls

Never Own, but they’re sold.

                                                         Now Madame’s richer,

                                                        (No effect on the bitter.)

Memories, like control, cause throes.

 

 

 

 

Calculate another price

Dresses, tents, keep the bazaar precise.

Let Her ignore

the past at Her core,

extend, depend nothing, expend with no one

(that matters) and Madame has won.

 

 

Only light eyes with malformed limbs

infiltrate victory, make it seem dim.

Kill the strange girl

                                                    who words never said

Why should she live when Her daughter is dead?

 

 

Madame beats back to keep Her illusion.

Maddie’s worth outside flesh was a painful intrusion.

The show must go on while Madame reigns there.

Gathering wealth that can outweigh gold hair.

 

 

All that we have is life and our lies.

But Madame has more,

In her realm by the shore,

for her Carnival lures with the prize:

of using up pretty, young things to realize

the illusion of Madame’s split-soul with their lives.

 

 

Her world turns,

                                        -perfumed scents.

Come to Madame’s

                                    -bright, dreaming tents.

Let loose your mind,

                                          let Madame’s smoke through.

                                          Delicious fever to wrap about you.

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