Prophecy
by Swan One Bite Two Bites Your jacket is white as a tablecloth, but you don't need a table anymore. They feed you by hand, one bite, two bites, but there are no numbers in your world anymore, just angels noisy as macaws. That night, you whispered "The transvestite who lives down the hall is Marilyn in disguise." And you kept rocking, hitting your head against the wall in time, record playing, "Had to crash, Valium wouldn't help that much." I crawled under the bed, hoping if you didn't see me, you would forget I lived. The transvestite down the hall called, it took four cops to hold you down. You wanted me to come with you. Every night you fucked me, wanting your craziness to bloom in me like a child. Goya's painting, Saturn Devouring His Children fascinated you, the god mammoth, straddling a prophecy, one hand clutching a body like a drumstick, One bite, two bites. "Will our son kill me," you once asked. "Only if you want him to," I whispered back. |
The Stroke by Meral
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