Saturday, March 17, 2012


You woke me up with a winter whisper
against my skin with ice-dipped syllables drenched in
acid and the venom sizzled against my neck.
Santa's here bella dear, santa'll hold you tight
Santa grabbed my virgin skin, ripped it off my fucking limbs
and let it flap in the wind
like a white flag on a battlefield.

I screamed—a banshee cry, a warrior's cry—
it echoed off the north pole and
it landed right in Santa's lap.

He fed my screams through a snow-cone machine
and gave them to my neighbor's niece while
I watched her gorge on iced candy hearts
and torture-flavored cream.
Slowly, then, when he was done,
he unlaced my muscles and blood vessels
and hung me from
a puppet frame for fun.

Marionette pretty, marionette pink
marionette dance and marionette sing...

I am bones in a bag—a bag of bones
bones in a body bag tagged for home.
Merry Christmas! Christmas hoy!
It's always Christmas when you're a toy.
I'm the puppeteer's bauble, the circus clown I'm the
ring master's slave when the lights are out
and sometimes I'll yank on the marionette
strings but
it's so tiring that I let myself
forget how to think.

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