— a collection of Little Thoughts
what good is a pile of bones shackled to a chain
master,
teach me how to be a better slave
I know not how to be a lover,
but I know how to use a knife, how to
clean out our splattered guts as they reek bloody on our bathroom floors
(although my severed hands are worn out trying to scrub off their wretched stains)
you call me a trophy wife, you
down spirits from these shining cups at unholy hours
not once turning a glance to my face
you’ve forgotten my name
and I’ve forgotten why we’re here,
these rings only bearing weight on our weakly fingers-
a reminder of all the rotten dreams piled away in our basement
what good is a housekeeper with a broken house and nothing at all to keep
master,
teach me how to work the gates and doors of this prison
teach me how to leave