by Heather June Gibbons
I, hackneyed beauty queen cut
with kitchen knife, whir, tilt off
spin fast, a heavy eddy, I am no
girl-wisp, nor clipped wingtip
nor treachery of baubles, nor branded
by word, nor shut up in a cave
no-body, no birdie, I leak, call me
Sheela-na-gig, Astarte, Dora, cheap
whiskey in cut-crystal, watch it your
earlobe’s in my teeth, I blow shit up
heart-husk, wax drip, I lick you, there
now you’re licked. I, twitchy harlot
I, muse the drudge, poison cup, slipknot
not precious, not spread, here, hold it
to your ear, hear me laughing.
I, kitten-heeled, do drop kick.
I, I, I, beget, taste, hang by threads
of smoke, I cloy, my mouth drips
venery, I weave my own shroud,
burn ink, and dare you, speak of me.
Last updated May 12, 2019