I have her in my head;

Press the barrel to my temple.

Trigger pull: bang.

Out of the silver end, her improper tongue with diced up questions

licks me like a hallucinogen.

I’m unkempt and she knows it.

I have her in my head—this whirled dominatrix.


I’m just red light after red light after…

but she hadn’t parried me away.  She stops

to stare, nearly cockeyed, at how a burial hasn’t happened.

She has the soil on her mind.

I have her in my head—she could bite me into fractions.


She dips and respects the design:

Frau swallower of spines.

I don’t bother measuring any half-life;

I already gave up my secret detail.

I have her in my head—I don’t run.


Her signature is ten-stories tall.  I’m

imagining her story on my breath: her fauna,

breath on breath, taking my bones to the bank;

the resting set aside while other kings castle.

I have her in my head—I re-pool my blood to other processes.


This is her wheelhouse.  What is her dacha

is my primary shelter; I reside here in quakes.

But this won’t last, will it?

And she’ll make off with the loot—every stake.

I have her in my head, and she disappears.

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