Originally published March
2006 in "Pray For Me"
A rewrite of "Dissection
Day"
Autopsy Queen
when she said she was
magic she lied,
and her romance was simply
a fable.
she floats in (not heaven)
formaldehyde,
cold and grey on the
autopsy table.
she opens up to mechanical
coils,
not glitter and rainbows
and glass.
this fantasy droops and
then spoils;
my mind's clear as cyanide
gas.
she is no longer miss
beauty queen,
she is just a specimen for
me to poke
and prod and cut but she
does not bleed,
blackened with(out velvet
but) smoke.
she was never really
filled with magic;
just a clock whispering
tic-toc-tic.