The Risen Woman
A poem
A poem
She slithered across the glittered floor,
while spit and sawdust furrows drew
a line across the warped grey boards,
and leather boots and metalled studs
stamped the chorus through her head.
Nothing saves a drowning woman
whose life is lizard skin and warts,
and split end foils with sugared ends
will merely grind her ragged shame.
No salve for crucifixion here,
the road is traveled, the deed is docked,
make of it what you will.