Red Sequins
The ice rattles in my empty glass,
like the rattle snake in my dreams…
The one that ate the spider,
with the sequin-red clitoris?
Staring down the vacuum of this glass, ever
I’ve got night fever, daylight dreamer.
Puppeteer and musketeer,
Brandishing murder and magpie treasure.
Pawn and prince,
Wicked and clavier.
My soul is pinched in a doorway
I’ve got night fever, with sequins
and an ache.
This is but the beginning,
This is just the first drink.
The bottom of the abyss I’m starting to know,
it looks like the floor of a bar,
the view from the bar-stool.
I’m throwing off these shackles,
I’m throwing off these blades,
Clothes of hindrance
and I’m no longer the prince.
I am spider, woman.
With a sequin-red clitoris,
And a big heart, clutching this rattle-pole.
Hands open, soul porous.
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