st. valentine in a bath of milk

lover

the curtains are drawn but the window is still ajar

lets the moonlight (milk-white) drip in

illuminates the mourning veil of lilies

& blow flies & carnations

sewn, braided

hanging loosely from the silver birch

it looks just like a figure on a black hill

from here in the bath

& with ears sunk into it

the girl’s voice almost vanishes

please, come out

you whisper

the braid grows teeth

and the girl melts into something darker and

more wicked. a sluttish call, a whorish pleading

please, please come out

jailbird.

little pooch of february was kicked down

sideways, ribs peeking through

white maggots and downy feathers and

that goatish, beating heart

ce qui est à moi est à toi

listen!

a pounding at the door

a most horrible scream

please, jailbird, come out to me!

in a clawfoot ripe with milk

the moon shines whitely in

and pours itself ever-kindly upon that glittering axe

held by a shadow of a lord

wearing the headsman’s hood

upon the raven hill

a bloody scrawl of ink

across a wet page. a moan of wood

as the goatman knocks (very gently) and

bids, please come outside

damocles glints like

he knows it all

like he knows i’ve taken my lungs out as angel’s wings

and that my teeth rattle (in my place) in your pocket,

goatman. and i hope you did find

this whole mess satisfactory.