I wear the truce
two pairs of fur boots
talk in bebé voce
to my tarot card lay
hold I’m the bad girl
over the ice capades.
Swords say disgust
enough of this cruelty
but how much is sickness
how much is snow-move?
I skate this town hollow
almost a thawing
bowl spider dolls
welded from footballs
scrape at their furry antennae
and pray, rip Siberian meat
virgin boxes of beads
deer fat with the glass
poking through.
My wolves will not eat.
To dine on their den
is pine pain
a ring of black bells
or a sign of my worsening
character. Every minute I spend
enveloped in them
is a minute you lose.
