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The Trouble's Like A Pushkin Sonnet

I.  Mademoiselle.
Cold through the beginning
she lay, smiling tender.
Soulmate drugs,
"Hindsight, etcetera,"
I nod,
try eye contact.
Deepness brightest first, words pulse and
breathe like coral, shudders soaking through
oesophagus. Red-black bulk slides down,
spent clouds and dark air.
I choke,
sulk joy.
She stares;
almonds creasing silver,
skin-deceiving feline.
It seems I make her laugh,
harmless and charming,
truth stored away between the days lived
absent, more than less.
She is in love,
she struggles out between kissed lips,
broken in half,  
dissolving faster.
Tempt me, why don't you,
lush black widow sun-spider?
Acid, choose me in safekeeping,
just to be in her blood
to buoy her up.
II.  Glass Slipper
Head on drums again,
rain right where he wishes
he spent time.  He justifies
staring with remembered things
and, impressed himself, considers
sidelong all the
hidden thoughts like meat.
While Cinderella with
split face is in the street, the morning
menace to Spring's child
eyes him bright; their skins flash,
and sit untouched.
She-cat mother, windows
tinted rose, and
she has doubts, he's sure, but should he
stay? He's
dead, he's like a proud man
in debt, and she is trouble
for the sad, she said.
Become what she has,
the whole of her hands on dirt,
the still ghost body
fading while thunder
rests, marshalling that
hope, pursuit in laughter of
the turned voyeur,
those slide eyes bruised;
she flinches, he postures
loose, his smoke
the butterflies she saw.
She finds the underside when she
looks up into me, curious
and smirking, shouted life spent fast
against the railings, furious
with passion and her vast unknown
exploits around the dark sundial,
obsession with and disregard
for living longer than the stars,
with their eternities to think;
She doesn't give a shit about
rewards, the drugs alone work out
much cheaper than the kitchen sink,
and it's the taking part that counts;
Mortician, weigh us by the ounce.
IV.  Out of the Bag
She saw butterflies stop by the
bookcase, in the smoke of our loose
postures.  He flinched. Her bruised eyes slide
onto the voyeur turned to use
of laughter in pursuit, best hope
that he can muster at rest in
the thunder while the fading out
of body ghost still smiles about
the dirt on her hands, the hole in
her tongue, what she has become; glad
to be speaking through reeds and sad
for the trouble she's been. Kohl on
her face, and she's proud like he's dead;
he'd stay there for good if she said
that he could, but he doubts that she
would, since she has roses, tipped by
her window.  Curled as a cat she
sits and flashes skins so bright eyed
child springs to mind, the menace of
the morning street, the white face spilt
with smoulders catching cinders while
she meets and holds his crooked smile
sidelong, never backing down.  He
considers himself impressed, and
wishes he'd forgotten to stand,
just this time, on solid ground. He
wishes he were right for once. Rain
drums on; it's in his head again.
V.  What's it got to do with you, Gene?
Like Pushkin sonnets,
lost glass slippers
left behind.
Cinderella with
split face,
Spring's child
bright; skins’ flesh,
In the dull,
her bruised eyes slide
onto the fading out
of body ghost,
the dirt
her tongue, and
she is proud like
he is dead, and she is
trouble for the sad,
she said.
Curious, deafening life
spent furious, undersides’
unknown obsessions and
rewards; he justifies remembered
things like meat
with crooked smile backing down,  
the hope that
it is just in his head again.
Stare; silver
deceives the days lived
absent, more than less.
Window-tinted doubts are
dead, like proud men's
debt, and she is
trouble for the sad,
she said.
Struggled kiss
dissolving, tempted
by black widow acid sun's
just to be
in her
blood, to buy
Air dark,
clouds spent down
bulk black-red
oesophagus through soaking
shudders, coral
breath and pulse,
words, at first
brightest depth, and she is
trouble for the sad,
she said.
Lay, tender
whole ghost body
fading, thunder
laughter of
the bruised; they flinch
and posture
like smoke butterflies,
"Hindsight," she says,
I nod, " etcetera."


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