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Emily Iris

scented finely, I’m a sparkling wash of chartreuse

garter belt gameshow meet peepshow pandemic!

this paper-doll pulley bent on drunk dotted hip

the galloping of hooves across hotel marble haunt

like klaxons — every eyebrow raised at the race

cleavage catalogued like the gemstones that shatter
                      when hit quite precise

a pearl necklace, thread popped, like a salt shaker shook

a bruise in bloom, my leopard fur rosette

I was frightened, a fawn, separated from deer

a pin-cushion, a goddess, an eye-roll in heels

lollipop scars sewn up like a doll
whose stuffing came fluffing and tumbling out —

like cotton

         or cloud  

                   or
                           a dandelion burst 

                           with a sneeze


my piston brain whistles like tea kettle scream

every oven mitt singed, ruby lip and bird knee

Emily Iris is an aspiring nun.