Muse the Drudge

by Heather June Gibbons

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.

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Last updated May 12, 2019