Saturday, December 1

Prelude to Gratissima

Her dress hung on the porch-
my noose, I sense
I wither

I kept my distance like a promise
I kept my secret like a silver quarter-
heads- or - tails-

but my heart dries up,
and my body fails.

Spent finally, finally, now sleep through the paper wall,
Knotting my stomach all around this living room
Like a garland, happy entrails.

With my cleaning-lady smile,
My maidservice mind
Wind my bones around the aisles,
Rubbing mascara into the carpet,
Snatched away from behind.

Unhand me! Unhand me! Disgusting man-
Do not flaunt me to your friend.
I am a sick, sick woman-- do not touch me,
Or I cannot ascend.

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