"I shall strike a sewing needle through your heart
for a gyroscope to keep me level.
Spin, wounded dancer,
declare yourself a world."
Spinning and bleeding, he said,
"Primp yourself a pelt
for ornament and testament.
Live your life upon my wall,
to collect and devour each passing eye."
And every bird begins its bower
with a glittering bauble in the early hour.
Wearing him as he wore her, she said,
"Make yourself a mummy,
preserved forever in cement Jello.
I shall bury you with various anchors
I calve from the ice of my womb."
Tearing himself away,
he became a skeleton, dancing, playing a flute.
"I have found a new mask to marry,
made of prescriptions and rococo furnishings.
She is a lovely acid, a suicide waltz."
And every bird in its rotting nest
fades with its bauble low in the west.
for The Sunday Muse #175.