time to go free-form
like that goddess
what’s her name

waxing Prozac-ic
sipping on juleps
chain-smoking discount
cigarettes

hurling lightning
from fingertips polished and trimmed

with just enough twist to her rap
to convince you
that there’s actually someone home
just maybe

charms serpents for deep-sea custody
of children undoubtedly
unshod unfed uncared for

and oh my god does she love the applause!
especially when she feigns aplomb
or pretends she can orgasm
at will on demand

as if these things really mattered

She’s a woman-child
hear her whimper sputter
and fall
over

broken heels
over
backwards

over
and over

and over and done

she rides mountains and waves
with a trident in hand

snacking on brains
and deep-fried testicle

defies the real gods
this self-deemed deity

on a diet
of doritos
and daughters

(you heard me right – she would eat her own young!)

alights somehow always
in open fields
feet first and heart last
to recite arbitrary couplets

as if that’s what’s going to save her

where there’s always a nymph
or a satyr
stand-in for some lumberjack
who’s really daddy in disguise
and so must fall to the axe
in the end

where she’ll stand
legs spread wide
presumably in heels and tight-assed
straddled over the carcass
of the vanquished
foaming in frenzied
ecstatic glee

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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