The Bad Girl

The first time I did it for money
I crouched in a cave of filthy sheets
& bit the back of my hand to keep from crying.
The moon has teeth.

I was marked at birth: a bad apple.
No doors or windows so secure
my rot couldn’t spread,
no evil I didn’t wish
on the ones who loved me,
the ones who tried to help me with such
immaculate gloves & methods.
No use.
Even the shadow of my little toe
was willful.

The moon’s hair is caked with her own blood.
Her fingernails are ragged
because she gnaws them like an animal.

You whom I torment are my tool.
When you tie me up I can escape.
When you rape me you reap the whirlwind
whose voice is the banshee mob.

The moon is barren but never lonely.
The scars on her face are a codex
limning her many contacts with aliens
whose purposes surpass all understanding.

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