mirror, mirror, on the wall
shiny hand on bloodied wall
eyesockets carved in, disemboweled clean. two
pink buttons sewn in their place,
wrists slathered with black tar.
portrait of older women, glistening in flames
your ancestry gave you skin, turned
into quilt, a landfill of trinkets, perfectly pink
who’s the fairest of them all?
if not the girls you hated most.
mouthful of hairpins coated gold
a tongue knitted half-shut, twisting consonants.
back in your homeland, soil not yet scorched,
sinners died for angels, in the
hailstorm last summer, pink
hand of a corpse on shiny mirror.
thou, o queen, art the fairest in the land
silver ring clutched to bonfire smoke.
queen of masquerades, poker card rolled
into smoking joints: the royal flush of twenties
half-smeared cosmetics on a tongueless
placenta, worn with crushed lollipop bits
golden like the West Coast’s afternoon sun
bleeding cavities only on one-half.
snow white, o queen, is the fairest of them all
eyelids sewn shut with a vintage thistle and
blonde hair dyed black as thread,
later at night you cough up pink buttons
and leave them between your bruised lips
as plastic dentures. organs wrung from
body, nailbeds sealed shut with cement,
portrait of burning women–combust.