VIVISECTION

excerpt from A Skin Chance in the Gash Matter

This poem can be viewed here:

Dusie Advent16 Day 11

VIVISECTION

I want this poem to be cut-up and stitched into something taxidermists would be proud of.

            

Do not vanish into an organ, little bunny. Long for no survivors.
     This thought relies on taut skin and a necrotic flush of fur.

   

 We wrote in our journals eat me, or at least parts of me.

She sold me even before I was out of her womb. My ear was already half-bitten. Milk teeth sore with weak. I lost them on a bed of stones. Do you remember shards of gems the color of opal? Gumming at centipedes and millipedes, my heart forlorn with wilted petals.

              

I want this poem to know exactly what its innards look like.

I want the openness of skeletons. See this? A curve of precise scalpels, steel-plucked iris.

  My bunny-vision in ultraviolet. A frightened white eye. A pupil of stun. Stunned, little bunny, stun.

           

I want to turn my tongue inside out, taste backwards.