tr Sandra Simonds

 

 

She’s beautiful and rich and runs a PUBLISHING EMPIRE 

so even her most miniscule thought is the color of corpse champagne

and even the devils in her hair, all dead factory workers,

don’t complain when she takes down that quartz waterfall at night 

 

for they will live pinned forever in her dragonfly-shaped barrettes. 

When she is naked, those poor monsters flow from her hands 

and say, very weakly, Oh Madame Deluxe, you can’t feel the pleasures of hell

that we feel! But that is total bullshit. When she looks into the mirror, 

the face of her own death is simply majestic and everybody knows it. 

 
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