blackbird online journal spring 2002 vol.1 no. 1




But of course you'd like to fuck Ophelia

Isn't that the whole point she asked
Her own skin as white as trout belly
& nearly as translucent in the liquid light
The moon let slide into her window

Just imagine me like that she said
The emerald-&-silver bed of slime beneath me
The sickening water lapping at my thighs
But unlike your floating Ophelia

I'll be naked       my hair a damp red fan
& even the flowers of my nipples will calm
Beneath the lily pads as you bend over me
Anxious to spread my legs until the whole

World of my death draws you to its embrace  

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