Iris X, owner of a small ascendant career
in an ever failing industry.
She is hero-wide influential,
she describes the flood as an overloaded Napoleon.
Iris, you’re the gnats that represent
the woodpile’s resentful intelligence!
Yours are the instruments of epidemics,
for you, it’s enough just to migrate.
Iris X, we’ll add you to the stately days of kings.
Iris, you’re the dryness of the linen closet
when it’s raining outside in childhood.
Iris, let me see those hands —
little hands! But they’ll inspire a Napoleonic champion!
But her head could contain her anger no more,
and she rose out of the sea as no one’s companion.
Iris X put on your own dark hood, angry head
come bodiless from the wintry Atlantic ocean.

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