When they drag me back
Into this red world with its rabbit
Glue, its skin and wounds,
Its magnificent viscosity, I’ll be
Solemn, and unscarred, as always,
Countess of innumerable darkness.
A germ, a small poof
Of silence, I move beneath
My imagined furs and stacks
Of beautiful white Warhol wigs.
Madness, perhaps, this schloss.
This wild electric damage
Like Candy Darling alive,
Though barely, on her deathbed.  end