Cut Out Her Tongue

I could not begrudge you an

alien creature with a tiara embedded, 

wedged where lungs like clear 

glass jars should be, collecting echoes 

and amplifying our doubt to all of the sparkling,

twirling girls in the changing rooms; the women 

made of ice and sugar, carved out of great shivering lumps of 

diamond, those glacial figureheads,

at the prow of my Titanic existence, 

ill-fated, bound only for the skeletal wreckage 

where they stitch slit thighs into mermaid tails

and paint lips, frostbitten blue, with a 

watery graveyard kiss,

a gloss, a gleam of whatever may circle the

plughole and stain the porcelain bathtub.

- - -

They hacked out

the little mermaid's tongue; traded away

for love, heavy as a cinder block; that 

wave-distorted song in the cavities of seashells,

but I will cling to the surface, I'll keep my song 

For one more day. 

The End

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