| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Christine Rosakranse's website: http://alum.mit.edu/www/rosakranse |
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| © 2006 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| 20 crazy bitches |
| by Christine Rosakranse |
| they’re twenty crazy bitches in my head
and they all want to kick your ass and they would if I let them if it thought perhaps seriously hey, my chunky heeled shoes the thick chain around my neck a fountain pen in my pocket all make good weapons I’ll warn you they go for the eyes cause that’s what drives them mad they’d go with their claws and talons the razor blades hidden in dreadlocks which I don’t have perhaps twisting your own wrist back into your face just to stop the staring, the crying, oh god the seeking affection, the desire the always wanting more the never having enough enough, enough lascivious eyes you can’t buy a jukebox heart filled with paper roses that will beat out poetry just for you you can’t take enough drugs when the flame hits the ice and the clouds fill your lungs god sits on his pile of skulls fingering the empty sockets behind the green curtain lids that’s only the him-in-your-mind you will never see him in the garden until flowers sprout from your brain I don’t want long nails I don’t put razor blades in my hair I don’t fight tigers and lions I’d kill myself before doing you harm but the girls don’t sleep and when I leave taken by poppy thighs into realms of night they sharpen their words fighting about how to kill you dreaming of kindergarten cruelty in their demented rage, wishing death by Seussian torture device perhaps a huge magnifying glass set to torch a tall tower of teetering chairs with you strapped to the top gagged mouth you fall, the blackened bottommost chair cracking before intense heat reaches the very top white socks remain brilliantly white until drenched by treacherous red eyes bursting on impact they think of concord grapes and get hungry my stomach growls at midnight and there is nothing I can do but warn if you want nothing you have everything you want and they’ll die in one big pile a heap of rotting death if not you beg for the bitches to come giggling to slice out your eyes from your head |
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| Aug. 2006 |
| 66 |