Where do you go to (my lovely) – a poem

Where do you go to (my lovely)

 

Somewhere, a barbed tongue scrapes silence

off whose? whalebone ribcage

flanked by battalion incisors sunk into the frosted pink

of foxglove, flashing red eyes.

 

O little purple dots

 

flee this rotten carcass

 

Narcissus fury barrels into nightshade webs

hiding locusts fed on raw mammary vines, bowed constrictions

of brittle limbs crawling around infertile fires. Singed by the skinning

blood-orange wax they drop into the heroine seduction of gasoline.

 

Emery boards crystallise the snake’s shedding skin

left in the shadow of belladonna

 

hanging: a fruitless bat, clipped

and drained for its venom.

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