That gush of liquid
Ignited
My soul,
Trembling in cold pearly hands.
The king poured
My body.

I danced
on the edge
of an electric mirror
And she threw its shards at me,
Scratched the skin off someone’s face,
Marking lines and ownership.
The crawl of my blood: her signature.

I am not erased.

In my northern bone mug
Soups still stir,
Can still feel
Those hero palms clutch
Worming strands that
Burrow
My scalp.

Tall white peak of a woman, hairs like angels smeared
Atop a netherworld cliff,
Held up her victim.
She saw,
Heard,
Felt,
Smelled,
Tasted
My image: diamond crusted bluebrilliant in the midst of crashed monies.
My hands smooth skinned more fat filled than hers,
Long tips finished in perfect pearl points,
I would pulverize
This dying, this rotting, this fried
goddess.

She yelled at sea men.
Revenge was a reflection danced
on the sky studs,
in star chains,
by star killer.
And they wrote
My star words: self-portrait runes carved in cracked ice,
Light will hit
You’ll see me in that.

They do not think of
My body
(only its results: a toddler’s dream bird and a twin brother soldier)
It sways in the father ocean,
As seething breath floats into my room and slides slime over pores.
It waits below,
Arms above a headless torso.
Watch for the tear down my marble nose.
Single rosebud of pain, tiny mosquito of lust withheld. Too frozen to remove. It stays.
I stay.
Caught in reflective
silver chains.