he says she's intrepid,
little fires in her lip.
the psychic stings in her hip,
claims the world is hers
when nothing's real.


he feels her ankles, they're soft,
crippled, sweet legs tied in knots
heart cursed, shot through the ribs.

bullets like circles of wire and gold,
he says,
spin in her bones
and they're ancient, they're cold.


he lays her back, shoulders loose against the bed,
giving her the last rites
from the cruelties in her head.
ruby slippers, rough silk,
he binds it through the skin.
he says she's living in europa now,
he says
she's happy dead.