Roses on Rot

Allie Nelson

Dances with Tricksters

Camera shutter shade, I am three-fourths drowned,

image in glass slivers of quicksilver mirror, black.

One quarter livid, barely alive, my wine runs dry.

Toe broken, I cannot walk, so I fly past pins and

needles meant to sew filth into my side stitches,

I am a doll, I am a saint, an angel, just a whore!

You are a nightmare dressed in white feathers,

cobra eyes and hiss click of a fanged lisp, I cry

out in the tongues of the Elder Gods, but only

the lonely graves hear my name, as down into

the marrow of the coffin I go, a lily my heart,

a rose my sex, my eyes nightingales, to soar,

to stifle, the Judge is architect of nightmares,

the Lawyer would leave me for a prettier girl,

for the clients he takes are trapdoor spiders,

hiding in glass Snow White cages, poison apple

lips and…

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