She married the prince, and then we announced her death. The nuns guarded a casket of glass with a beautiful maiden appearing to sleep. The King came and wept. He did not repent, and he accepted the poisoned apple slices I offered him.
shades drawn, lights out, blanket beneath me, letting Keith Jarret’s Köln Concert enter me like a lover’s touch, orchestrating along grooves of pleasure
If a woman hadn’t been out walking her dog, they might never have found the body among the miner’s lettuce and jimson weed, the young nurse may have lain at the base of the creek invisible to the naked eye for months, years—
She flashed on familiar images: The crucifixion of James Dean and Sal Mineo among others For the mutable sins of cruising rough trade (just a rumor, just a rumor) As arborescent skeletons sprouted in the abandoned fields
Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, the applause of listening senates to command, they reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, and then the perilous path was planted.
Hook a fish, and she’ll fight for her freedom. Remove her from seawater and she’s like a person pulled down into crushing dark where she’ll thrash for breath.
