Slept a block away from Jon Benet's house last night and nightmares

Dear Baby,

my Jon Benet with hollow plaster cast of my face for a face and naked and carmelized limbs,

melted stump feet,

baby, you were fingerless. 

 

dear baby,

i cast you with a plaster of my yelling face,

dug the jarring mouth into a universe, where, dangling inside, mirrors and plastic classroom globe swings as entrails 

and if someone were to look inside stick their head inside like naughty max who, looking for his parents, stuck his head inside a lion's gaping craw, 

head, stuck inside a howl, would glimpse shards of itself, and moonlight. 

 

dear baby,

your parts are junk stuck together in reverse tin man effect. unbeating, beaten up, scrap metal heart, before it was a heart, discarded piece by rusty piece into a pile the size of a moon crater, a mole of trash on the earth's thrashing face, reverse pockmark filled with what i used to build your heart junk.  

 

dear baby,

at 2am we accidentally, un-ritualistically drove by legendary Jon benet's tudor white picketed rosy bricked home dressed in ivy. grave called home.  home, sweet home, the grave. 

i lit a candle in my heart and for a second was a virgin again. 

the tudor, rumor has it, worming through it, a crawlspace hollow ribbed snake, perhaps digests hardened cobwebs of flesh, America's finest wrought blood blackened bone. ochre dust. 

perhaps he came all over her and all over her like an unkinked garden hose and

perhaps she called him daddy,

we'll never know.

 

dear baby,

last night i dreamt of your sweet face twisted into howl, macabre media clown dressed in that pretty white lace dress. i dreamt in baby talk, foreign language, innocence seduced by black puckered kiss,

his incisors. 

baby,

i built a doll and called it Jon Benet, a sweet name, 

and it had my face. 

Comments

[Spacialcadetsociety.wordpress.com]

Love this post! The pictures are perfect, and, as usual, you're a master poet.

B Happi,
{the spacial cadet}