Jessie Janeshek

Fleshing Out the Blonde Dahlia Deux

Faithful sky
blue blade

Terrible sky two

and you needn't watch children
re-row a river

So let's find my body
at Parc de la Bercy

bis a bis sistering
yellow-white vinyl

I reiterate lace
behind homeless men's knapsacks

or in the grass square
where snapdragons drain

Fungi sprung in my armpits.

Moss-spotted stars

circled my hunger

caterwauled swanned.

You demonstrated intimacy
variegated tiara
a trunk with eight locks

rearranged my black bones
on light-sensitive paper.
Glass bloodhounds showed up.

Should I find my triptych rustred kickbald
iron-ferned or bloated next to the river?

My remote-control autospot sniffs up bloodhind
corpsecatch corpsestory

leashes the rocking satyr fast panting
curing and muraling her princess bed

her black canopy clashes and out that sad window
prime view of the getaway van

I wrote some of my best poems
under the pump swings
and it wasn't refusal

nor hazy desire

to scribe the nude man in red lipstick

who unlatched Zephyr's black pussy

then kissed my sex

I found her triptyched ever pursuing

greenbowed unbedroomed ever pursued

and consider it this way
her death changed my life

They found me in serious vegetation

speculum coning open the glow

said intentionally posthumous

a dahlia a rayograph

artfully gone

They laid me in frou frou

mottled all night

a virgin? yeah, right

zipped out a lung