SILVER AND SOFT SKULLS 

revolting like a king-pin's daughter
i piss my pants on the kitchen floor
and pretend it’s over

the room tips
in a slight silver glow
he blinds me
beats me hard for that one moment
and i go limp in the light

further down into memory
small
dark girl from all the sun outside
nothing shines here
no one wears pink tutus here
no blonde dolls to distract my soft skull

trickery and seat belts holding me down
twisted teen-age boy in a man suit
hold my hand, sir
touch my tummy, boy

infra-red and night vision
the only tolerable excuse to close my eyes
variety in a tussle with the pervert inside
soapy medicine skin
gripping nausea
we vomit together like perfect angels
our soft-skulls split down the mid-section
i wrestle the surgical knife into the corner
pull it out like a protruding piglet
pristine and pink and supple as my own innocent ass

i would cut him if i knew the difference
tiny man-boy pieces to carry in my pocket
filthy skin shards i could bury in a secret spot
put his touched mind to rest in the dirt where it belongs

and all the while
mama jo turns her juicy head to the wind
not my boy she prays god
not my boy

we play monopoly and count the cars going by

i loved her
in all her jaundiced, saturated skin
i loved her
sat my kitty on her death bed
then watched the ambulance roll in with my tears
as i sat
murdered in the manicured grass

 

BY STELLA RUSSO

Stella Russo was birthed from a magical combination of the absolute truth and
incredible fallacy. She has been branded with the mark of her beast, and
continues to follow the universal footsteps laid out before her.

As the official secretary for Outist, inc., Stella has dedicated her whole
five feet of body & soul to the endless task of changing energy with each
letter caste on paper. She has been published previously as her former self
in Chronogram Magazine, Long Shot #22 and by Poets Gallery Press.