for the sake of my killer, I walk to Ludlow’s Smokers’ Palace, start the day right, like the day before, get coffee and a muffin, lemon, poppy seed and cranberry, mixture is popular, all mixed up, sacred and profane, there’s not more convenience anywhere in the world, sooner or later, a killer will take notice, the sure things eventually get noticed, I have a soft spot for the London Times that still follows Whitechapel where the Art Gallery is hosting “Faces in the Crowd: Painters of Modern Life” through the end of February – they are hooked on Pound’s haiku – who isn’t an apparition, who isn’t a petal on a wet, black bough – popular, this one will soon be a notch on her killer’s belt, if he pulls it too tightly somewhere around me, forcing my last breath into his cupped hand, the holes in the belt might leave markings in the pattern of a small octopus’ suckers – I have a thing for them, a knack for recognizing certain potential, soft thing, soft knack, the octopus connection, o-links, o-o-o-links – all mixed up, crazy salad, I will be called Red Back when all my blood pools there, soft spot – I will take on the name of Australia’s famous spider, they thrive even in the virtual Museum Victoria because They can live almost anywhere but do especially well in the man-made, disturbed environments of both country and city, they are prodigious breeders, so it makes sense for me to be on my back, Only female Red-back spiders bite people, that makes sense too – my habits make it easier for attackers I’ve been preparing for since allowed to walk to school alone, and that is why I have these habits, to get it over with, to free me from living each moment waiting for assault – once that’s behind me, I can get on with either my life or my afterlife, so the sooner the better, I’m tired of dragging my suspicions everywhere I go, flirting with my killer, giving him every chance for advantage, it doesn’t happen to every woman, but there’s no good way to rule out any woman in particular, even corpses can be violated, have been violated, so there’s a name for sex with the dead, a need for the word necrophilia, this is a fact, there are so many facts, more than anything else, popular, pity – I do know someone who on prom night took a girl he drugged, to a funeral home, broke in, thrill central, crazy salad, went over the threshold, put her in a titanium casket, expensive, popular, silk lining and silk pillow, soft spots, not available at any motel he would have gone to, no explanation necessary, and he took her picture with his camera phone – the very size of a compact of budget foundation, not that she needed any further application of tawny, any more bronzer ever that was supposed to disappear, soft spots on soft cheeks – messaged it to her and to their mutual friends who claimed to be so jealous of them, tiara on her head just like the official prom queen’s, and then he made consensual love to her, documented (mms via wap: multimedia messaging service via wireless application protocol), that she didn’t remember – she planned to be just as anesthetized if she ever gave birth, why not – the point was the baby, she’d wake up to a beautiful thing in her arms as if the child just fell out of heaven, what they all say, better than the stork, nasty bird, more related to a nasty buzzard than to her, better than the cabbage patch, what is found there, bias, soft spot, scavengers, aside from believability, falling out of heaven sounds like eviction, a Lucifer drop, she certainly wasn’t getting pregnant that night in that casket, he promised, day they met, all mixed up, crazy salad day, to wear a condom, and she held onto that promise, soft spot, mixed up, bias, because a boyfriend who would go to such lengths to give her the prom of a lifetime could certainly be trusted, and since she was only passed out, deep daze, he wasn’t really lusting after the dead, though to each his own, preferences, soft spot, crazy salads, and I didn’t give his name because I promised not to, a woman of my word just as he’s a man of his – he told her what happened, and she was fine with that – thanked him, a courtesy call, wakeup call, mixed number =
italicized lines are from the virtual Museum Victoria.
“Galactic Octopus,” copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved
“Crazy Salad Day Moment,” copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author. All rights reserved.