Hair and Wrists

This elastic is in my hair sometimes. Sometimes it's around my wrist It's black, it's matte, it's not-quite-soft. Like a pulsing piece of abyss. But it's just a single hair elastic. That's sometimes around my wrist. I don't know what to think about it. Or why it even exists. I want to put gold in your hair, sister. And diamonds around your wrists. And I will somehow I will, I will. Just as surely as Loki exists. (and he does) The sunlight shines through your dark frizzy hair. Lights your head like a halo. But prettier. Even God want you to have a crown, sister. Even God wants the world to kneel in your worship. Sister take the crown from the head of the king. Don't wear it if you don't want to. Just break it to bits. He got it from the exploitation of the poor. His life shouldn't even exist. The gold metal that is in his hair. The bracelets that are on his wrists. Sister even unadorned you're so much prettier. You deserve the throne in which he sits. Sister I don't know what to say. Amen to you, amen. Your eyes are rolling hills your cheeks bones a storm. Amen, amen, amen. The king will die. But long live the queen. The king will die. So long live the queen. The king will die. So long live the queen. I don't know where this ... whatever ... is going. It's almost spring.