I will unmask Sportsmaster I will unmask Cheshire I
Is there a gun? If there’s a gun
I won’t hesitate, between the eyes
where it all burns, all of it.
As for the mask? The X hides a childhood
scar from my father, tell-tale
mark you could track me with —
find a girl, find her name,
you might as well take away her
mask. You thought
if only she knew. I knew.
I knew it all by the book. The sisters
always end apart.
The wedding dress is never
yours. There will always be dinners
where they won’t
say your name.
They’ll tell you this was your fault you
got it wrong you —
there is no
undo — unsend —
unbe.
So I cornered him into a room.
I iced him cold.
I cut out the pallid liver
and fed it
warmed on toast
to my companion animal.
*
Soon, the fuckwave.
Soon, the ravenous collective.
Soon, the envious love triangle.
Soon, the songsters and bards, all lonely for a song.
My death shroud will be hung
out like the hymenkite, the virginsscrim,
the ceremonial speckled tell-all
and my, how we will love our doctorates now!
We will love so much. We can it all.
How we wash our hands in each other’s blood,
talking so loud we cannot hear each other.
Chloe Rose is a young, intersex, Mormon woman living in Tacoma, Washington. She enjoys writing poetry, essay, and tweeting about conlangs, feminism and such as. Tweet back @chloeandsuchas. #queerstake #mongrel
