there was a sort of hollywood in the basement by Kailey Tedesco


there was a sort of hollywood in the basement

his tie sticking to my braces while phantom 

of the opera moons through static i am an opera dressed

in cake pink flounce from delia*s my face caked, too, 

in a cream two colors too light french pantomime

mimicking  autographs my mother covered 

in dried glue still pasting stars to the staircase 

& ceilings all of it cement with puffed cheeks

holding in the last breath of winter in the folds 

of my bodice two stinkbugs one dead 

& dried a corsage of petal & the specifically 

colored blood     of insect i ooze 

myself into a dance my flower crown

of lopped rose heads hair tangled in plastic     later 

to wreath the drain of the shower his hand

tearing my mother’s stars down from the ceiling

a rough collection of that which does not belong 

to him, but to sweetness his hands, too, 

pulling up my hem so i am undressed except 

for the chiffon gathering around my head

joan crawford in a turban by the pool 

a knife through frosting a snuffed fire i never want 

to perform this kiss scene again 

The Opal ClubComment