Sardonic and seldom meet for wedlock

The Warlock is all too cheaply brewed.

The aspect is truly wonderful,

But the nastiness signs the show.

Heaving is the buxom, rash ashes and crucibles

Havana for [                ], against the strain

Of a percentile.

That reptiles don’t claim.

A climbing frame is sought

An abacus is bought

The wielding of a sword is salacious

If Guinevere is Calvary for Lance’s hiatus.

Malory wasn’t malign,

Gawain wasn’t fined,

Computer time: The serpent winds

Wands in the Wood.

Women that could.

One day, few will own the many…

A lady seen today is conspicuous

Individual realms non-dueling

The gold prospecting

Aspects of dancing

Today is a day to celebrate

Next year we need to excel.

If a girl could do well

Shanti would read.

Saraswati delivers a letter

A liver seeks a lover for and water,

Rivets in Navratri,

Nine times she is denied with Indian daughters.

The Hills Have TMZ

Eyeshadow

Mascara

Black boasts of Kali clones

Sweating this small stuff: Rudra with paint.

Nature is quaint to know the bones of Alas! I knew him.

Be well with Yorrick

(Was?) the free house of Hindustan, ‘47 @ 1851

Origin:

The great McBride Mahabharata

But not for me.

AI Summary:

The poem moves through mythic femininity — Guinevere, Kali, Saraswati, Navratri, and the “lady seen today” forming a constellation of women who carry history’s burdens and brilliance. It blends Arthurian legend, Indian cosmology, makeup counters, TMZ culture, and colonial echoes into a landscape where dance, denial, and destiny collide in the struggle for recognition. The speaker wrestles with lineage, caste‑shadow, beauty, violence, and the ghosts of Hindustan and Mahabharata, searching for a place where women’s realms are neither maligned nor denied. In the end, the poem reaches toward inheritance and refusal — a recognition that some stories, some origins, some epics are “not for me,” even as their echoes shape the bones of identity.