ELEKTRA EUPHEMISMS
I switchblades of
my happiness
as he pours salt
into my wounds
desire burns ephemeral
the scars of his love
in the gift I couldn’t give
we wait in the silent
lies of childhood lost
II ponderous verbiage
and screwdrivers
my splitting headache
in your house with
my father’s doppelganger
waxing rhapsodic
in between the lines
more in the handshake
than meets the eye
jumping the hurdles of
our habits
III the hem of my robe is the echo
of one thousand nazis marching
while the beating of my heart
confuses itself with cymbals
of the marching band
the smell of death in winter
(of love or a dog)
mingles with something burning
confusing my senses and
causing me to act in
one rerun after another
