Wasp Corp
Heavensent Cerberus
with a hair clasp of the corpses of wasps
all loam hello
for digital frostbite
I can’t get warm in
this one cool trick
stupid vitamin sweater
it’s so fallcore
to wanna be stung
and/or bitten
over and over
trellising my Lilliputian wounds
Royals
I grew up in the shadow of another palace.
Mamma had animals roam the garden
into the bargain, had all their fur dyed scarlet,
had worms. We ate nuts
and berries, red hunks of meat
culled from the state forest we couldn’t believe in.
Sexuality was our custom.
I grew out my bangs for the paparazzi.
I guess my love curled bloody meringue or nothing
convinced itself light
was the only value worth having
temptation of entropies unknown.
Coaxing twig from the nursery
a crepe myrtle lain on your tongue
a tiara worn alimony of young swans.
At any minute of the day tiny fish are eating the dead
skin of my feet, tiny goddamn days
of tiny fish are eating my time.
This is particular to the bloodline
you said in a speech to the governess
our life is bleeding a quiet hymnal.
Under the plane trees of London my love
sneezes gently
a genuine Eden.
____________
Maria Sledmere is an artist and poet, living and teaching in Glasgow. She is editor-in-chief of SPAM Press and a member of A+E Collective. Her most recent books are Sans Soleil with fred spoliar (Face Press/Mermaid Motel, 2022), String Feeling (Erotoplasty Editions, 2022) and The Luna Erratum (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2021).
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