Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

Baba Yaga in Washington

BABA YAGA IN WASHINGTON

Her house's chicken legs scratch out their brains
Cell at a time. They rattle in their skulls
Like peas. She grinds them and her pestle pulls
Her mortar through their hollows. What remains
But painful slow humiliating stitch
By stitch she stuffs their dessicated skins
Sticks button eyes through squish grape mulch with pins
Their little mollusc dicks a moist red itch
They hear a gently scritch and then a hum
Crescendos like a needle. There is fire
The smell of choking dog dung nostril deep
Even in dreams their fractured boneache sleep
Boys melons cattle whip guilt and desire
A pentup bursting yet will never come.
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