one turn of the screw too far

raw like a she-devil on acid
no not raw--but pulsating
an open wound
desert heat
spiral

i know not what i type
and still i contemplate
--it's not true, you know
(the facade turns in upon itself)
its-self
loathing

but no worries. (worry more)
she knows for whom the bell tolls. . .
kafka rings
she twitters, flitters her mississippi wings

the cockroach she killed ten years ago--
it was for you

menace
blackwater mud-slinger

she rises to scream
unfurled,
unfinished,
undone
scream,
she rises
raw,