Andrea
I will plunge her among fishes.
They will stir through her hair
spread lusterless upward
from her pallid head.
On her eyes will hide
two simple minnows.
At the tips of her fingers
and wanton on her shoulders
the lips of fishes
will flirt and kiss.
They will nibble her thighs.
At breast and belly
light fins will flick
and cups of the squid
will suck her loins.
The sidewise crabs
will nip at her toes
and her fine blue ankles.
Or I will dump her to earth
where silvery slugs
will yearn at her ear
and cloudy snails,
pulling from touch
their tender horns,
ease over her arms,
while under her buttocks
slick mannered beetles
fix tiny red stings
and the dead grass flattens.
Small spiders will value
her matted hair
to stay their webs,
and hundred eyed flies
will cruise all summer
to spin to her body's
indelicate sweat.Or sometime in Chicago
at the end of winter
I will cause her hair
to be unbraided
while the rain falls prettily
bringing little cinders
to stick in particles
on each thin strand,
and she cries to find
her mane, her pride,
all sooty yellow,
so a twining hand
might yank away stained
smudged with the smoke
that rails her hair.
I need some sweet scheme
to do her in
by air, earth, and water.
But burn her hair.