The severed head of an angel
rests between her knees,
and she knows that if they find her
they'll cut her down with bees--
tings swelling like glow in the dark inflatable skeletons,
she can taste the fear, cold, in her lip--
rings
metallic and sweet, like
Cinnabons--
doused in blood
at the inhouse mall shooting
--let's watch stars flood
the cracked cieling.