My pussy is a document
it warrants confusion
it rasps on parchment
confronted by squid's ink
it is heavy with light
my hair is curly and dark
my eyelids are thin and delicate
made of something thin and delicate
worst of all
the currency of here to then
is determined by a glance
and the train disappearing into the hill
does she whimper does she crust
doesn't remember doesn't touch
the spinning in the mirror
from one life to the next
from christmas into the afterworld
works like a luxury ribcage
a pendant of fire and ivory
and curdled milk
dusty air-filled sacs
and cannabis scrapings
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