Cold coffee poured fresh in the morning
A New Orleans killer targeting women in
virginal white corsets.
They are lying and lead fruitless lives
sleeping with vampires whose seed devours.
She opened her bloody legs to God
A woman sketching naked bodies
across a canvas of blood while
her lover is writing poetry of
death and loss and pain.
Holiday whores swallow seven white seas
Silver dragons encountering elves with
arrows and bows of glistening bone.
The world they are fighting for is
crimson with blood, obsidian with darkness.
Blood pooled at her head, her chest, and again at her stomach
Mortal Gods walking among us
and she will know what it
will feel like to be fucked by them.
Lasting mark — a bloody palm against white wall, a rotting foetus
Horrific video games she cannot bear playing
Freddy’s claws, Jason’s machete
and an atrocious chainsaw massacre
they are honouring with a movie.
What lives are worth remembering if
mass multimedia corporations aren’t
reaping from the profits of death and blood?
God recreated Adam a wife because Lillith was feministic
And the poet sits while
her lover sketches Inuit clothes
because she enjoyed the carpenter’s tale.
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Michelle Kopp is an overworked graduate student and part-time writer in Saskatchewan, Canada. Her creative non-fiction work has recently appeared in The Diverse Arts Project and Upon The Prairies.
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hyacinth noir 