She Holds Herself So Tight The Skin Turns White
by Dee Sunshine
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From my collection, "The Bad Seed". E-mail me if you are interested in purchasing it.
SHE HOLDS HERSELF SO TIGHT THE SKIN TURNS WHITE
she holds herself so tight the skin turns white/
the skin so tight, she curls/ an embryo form/
a curve of laughter behind mirrors/ she agonises
her agonies/ washes herself in moonlight/ her
body bleached/ curled up pale upon the rocks/
a whisper of finger, curled on her breast.
her hair is black, oil black/ witch’s hair, her
hair/ her cunt hair is a finger/ cool blue finger/
drawn with lipstick licks/ her eyes are black/
black as jasmine oil/ black as inside out mirrors.
her eyes are black as a jazz song/ her skin as
white as the crone moon/ inside her, the moon
is an ocean.
inside her, the baby seed grows/ she vomits/
collapses in a heap of her vomit.
the cigarette burns down/ his hand is motionless,
curled round his metal penis.
the ocean does not wash her body smell/ does not
wash away the jasmine, sweat and come/ it breaks
her body on sharp white rocks.
her laugh is a thousand splinters.
white rocks, white body, white moon/ the blue sky
is too blue/ it hurts the eyes/ too blue, like the
waters breaking on her shoreline.
she dreams that she’s an island.
the sky is too blue/ the grass is too green/
too green, like the too green snake which slithers
on its belly thru’ the too green grass.
the trees are black/ just right/ black, like her
witch’s hair/ the trees reach up and reach up.
she holds herself tight/ her skin, white/ tight/
taut/ an embryo form curving/ carved from mirror.
her belly is ripe, but the milk is sour.
* * * * *
her glass gown was too long, too tight/ she should
have danced all night.
oh baby, oh baby, please!/ his voice teased
her clothes to splinters.
* * * * *
her black hair dangles loose/ untied of its rainbow
ribbons/ black hair against white skin/ lipstick
lips painted on a bloodless face.
cunt red/ the lipstick kisses on his brass torso/
“oh baby baby please”/ cunt juice acid on his brass
cock/ glass splinters in his hand/ glass/ brass/
glass/ fragments of carriage clock/ a chronological mockery.
chronos: the god who sucks the soul.
* * * * *
the ballroom is empty/ masks & broken glass on the
polished floor/ the caretaker sweeping up/ his
uniform, blacker than the night.
she is eggshell/ laughing/ washed up/ white/
her hair, black as bitumen, reeking of jasmine
he is brass, skeletal/ robed in black/ black
she is oval glass/ splintering/ fragmenting
to the dead moon’s call.
he stretches out his metal fingers/ they are
all for the grabbing/ greedy baby/ his only wish:
* * * * *
oh baby baby please/ the black semen saturating
the milky egg/ his naked brass body, suddenly
limpid/ the acid seed in her belly/ fragments of
metal & glass scattered across the polished wood
floor/ luminous brass/ opaque glass.
he sings in his sleep/ oh baby baby, I’m begging
she listens to the moon and the waves in her
she cries a river of glass and jasmine oil.
in her palm/ a sliver of glass/ the wound, a cunt/
a stigmata/ a reminder: there is no joy that cannot
for every cocktail there is a crucifixion.
* * * * *
she is white, cold, alone/ the baby grows inside
her/ a monstrous incubus, sucking the life out of
she is eggshell bits, splinters of glass,
specks of moonlight/ all wrapped up in dead white
the caretaker sweeps her up/ into his plastic bag/
black/ black as the devil’s seed/ he sweeps her up
with all the weekend’s detritus/ bottles, cans,
cigarette packets, condoms & paper hankies/ lipstick
containers, masks and fragments of brass & glass.
he pushes his brush languidly thru’ all the
trash/ whistling his favourite pop song/ oh baby,
oh baby please/ i’ll get down on my knees...
she curls up in a thousand splinters/ curls up in
the rubbish of a thousand dreams/ she only wanted
to dance/ she only wanted to dance.
the crone moon calls her/ calls the waves in
her belly/ she curls up/ cramps/ the skin ripples/
taut/ tortured/ impaled/ she holds herself/ tight/
she holds herself so tight the skin turns white.