a desperate poem?
throwing away dustcolonies paperclips your treasured
psychiatrist’s obit from 20 yrs ago dr. sugarplum fairy
died in her sleep
snatched by the Reap as we worked on child-client’s deeps
burnings starvation young molestation in addition to fantasy
scenarios re: my other mother’s soon (?) sleep
a hypo?
eye of newt?
her suffering this life
often prolonged
intense +unbeautiful
what will it feel like when your dustmites are all dead? they who
are piled in every crevasse in moist piles under your bed throwing
away your old identity your once vibrant debauchery chérie
and yet this is NOT a desperate poem desperate is refusing to let go
clutching your mites mightily they don’t even love you they just quietly
go about the business of succubus+asthma
HARK ! in the midst of the shit abyss a creeping feeling of lightness
of lift off as the door to the final 3rd creaks open you walk barefoot
+mitred 👑 now Queen of Mites Queen of Battleaxes near and far
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Winter 2025 ..and freedom..oh freedom..
songanddancegirl 