1. |
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In Season:
Irises the color of maple leaf, make
believe your makeup makes you look
like those marble-carved girls. Pandora
hawks her hope out for street smarts;
Psyche serves silhouettes in stone that
make a goddess seethe green. Throw
those little blue flowers to the river for
your girlhood luck. Wait there night
after summer night (wearing florals)
for an answer.
None will come.
The wrong face reflects in the water:
you, almost-girl. You, bearded lady
without lady parts. Shed your chest
hair like white bird feathers. Mock
that tired pose of Leda pre-egg, post-
rape, oh, you myth of manhood, of its
swan song. Regrow. If Galatea changed
into a real girl (along with the legions of
starfish in season), maybe you can too.
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2. |
The Witch's Lover
04:20
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Give me diamonds, give me death
Lavender and baby's breath
Shut your mouth and close your fist
Paint me with a palette black and blue
Darling, I belong with you
Drink me like I'm poisoned, too
Lock me up for 14 years
Eat the key and see if I still scream
Emerald hands, steal my light
I can't quit, try as I might
One bird fell, one bird flew
Bury me in embers made of you
In the sleepless, soundless night
Hunt me where the owl takes flight
Bring me sixteen skins to brew
I will make a hero out of you
Emerald hands, steal my light
I can't quit, try as I might
One bird fell, one bird flew
Bury me in embers made of you
Kiss like spiders, fuck like hell
Pen me in a villanelle
And come to me when you are through
I will make a killer out of you
Burn the Hesperides Tree
Dance, my pagan, dance for me
Give yourself up to the night
Scorn the angels, shun the light
And come to me when you are through
I will make a monster out of you
Emerald hands, steal my light
I can't quit, try as I might
One bird fell, one bird flew
Bury me in embers made of you
I stuffed your toenails in a doll
Stay with me, goddammit all
Stuck a pinprick in its heart
To be a child again is such an art
I wrapped your hair around the doll
Boxed it in with barbed wire wall
Cut its feet to make you stay
You can hide, but you can't run away
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3. |
Family Ghost
03:29
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When I was still a maiden witch, my mother warned me not
To listen to the shadow-man who whispered by my cot
But mother never told me of the things he had to share
No, when I felt him near, she'd shriek, "Not there, not there, not there!"
And then one day, he came to me when she was not around
He taught me to possess a mouse and float above the ground
I thought I'd run away with him, this man above my bed
He told me we could have a child with eyes of glowing red
But day by day, he stole from me: my strength, my youth, my might
And then he took my maidenhood once, while I slept at night
But then, I was a clever witch, although I shouldn't boast
I learned he loved my music box, this hateful family ghost
It seemed to put a spell on him, its haunting, clockwork song
I set it while the setting sun cast all the shadows long
And when I came, he opened it, and he froze, hypnotized
I sucked him in and shut the lid, and in it still he lies
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4. |
Fly Trap
05:20
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5. |
Green Grass
03:48
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6. |
Queer Migration Patterns
02:43
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“The ‘Red Death’ had long
devastated the country.”
Flee. Again. Slowly.
And with such patience
drag your platform heels
desert to desert.
Written on stone, on
wall. Tortoise years
trail in the sand. An
hourglass. Figure:
Next town’ll be
different. Grow. Older.
“No pestilence had ever been
so fatal, or so hideous.”
You. Red. Plague
bringer, judgment bringer,
hurricane bringer. Stones
between their fingers,
gold on your nails. False
lash squeezed between
thumb and forefinger,
leave those lizard men who
licked their lips at you behind
closed doors, no one but you as
witness—lizard men with bones
to throw, stones to pick. Depart
from me, I never knew you.
“And one by one dropped the revelers
in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel.”
Never. You. Old
granny, tortoise, monster,
hag and that which rhymes
with hag, with granny, get out
before they get you, slow
as the tortoise, strong as her
mother. Draw on her strength,
she who wanders a whole year
without a bite to eat, lives
a hundred years or more with that
world-shell on her back, leaves
her story in sand undisturbed
until the wind lifts the dunes, carries sand hills across tortoise
trails, erases them. Slow as glaciers, crawl to the next desert over.
“And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last gay.”
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7. |
The Devil
03:59
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