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

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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