Tuesday, April 13, 2010


First, she swallowed her words
But they whispered
she ate her fingernails sharp
to skin it
And a crucifix, on a chain
But he pawed her open
She swallowed her tongue
ate a rope of hair, to climb out
It coiled a question through her
magnets and padlocks
To hold her to the bed
But still he came
So she ate a box of nails
And a hammer, and pinewood plank
built a house to live in
But he crawled inside her like a tapeworm
And lived in her drainpipes
in a nest of unsaid things
So she ate a box of candles and a book of matches
But he blew them out, and came in the dark
So she ate a string of lightbulbs
Just to be safe
But she opened her mouth,
And it was dark still
So she ate the streetlight, and the sun, and the stars
And the planets, ate airplanes and jackolanterns
Till there was only the black
And he was the black, so she ate that too
switchblade motoroil thick and greasy
brittle as a mirror back
broken combs and crowfeathers
iron and tires and asphalt
till there was nothing left
then she ate the nothing

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