some new stuff

by amy


I am filled with tight twisted coils of
Lace and those red poppies from
The Wizard of Oz that made people give into
Sleep in a field
With their baskets of counterfeit
Beauty
With their loads of impressive
Floral arrangements to present to the king
And his jealous queen
I’m the one the old folks measure in width of the chest, speed of pumped beating
My heart breathes through hash
I wade through horses trampling
Fireflies at night, some don’t know
Their own strength




White towels in the bathroom
Suffocate from expelled acid
From the man’s twisted-round fingers on the faucet’s blade
To cut the water
That washes her face in the mornings before noon
When she knows she won’t be captive
To a writhing reflection