melissa christine goodrum


three graces                           

are naked &
dancing                       near water
the one on the left                  is drunk
& wavering                 her two           eyes
see four           on her sibling's forehead
the fires                                   of a Himalayan
god                  shake Vishnu               shake the Earth
Maker                         their legs                     shimmy
like fawn calves                       are shapely
like the middle            holds
see the water              each other

round &           round
the fingers       the waistlines
the horizons
waver              ingratiated 
as the muses   miss                 a step
wondering where                   the other
six                    went







a woman         with a monocle

or a monster               with a mustache
orbits dots                  surrounds       her head
democrats                  republicans
&                     independent oracles
crevices           small buttons              crawl                           down
her dress         the curmudgeon         face on her
ivory                            necklace          is frowning
the carved figure                                seems
displeased                                          at two white finger
prints 
that lay upon her neck           
up        neck   
down
side     ways                            she sneers

at this shit       this twisted center      her gloves
have pink eyesss                                 a sand                          glass
an        hour                a                                                          lass
it’s shapely                 this center                                           stares 
like an              ‘i’         plaited                         Cyclopes                                
it cannot                      hold 







Beetle juice      & a gutted  lime      
               
in this              eye                  the creepy       vein                
spiders            dry                   vermouth        burrs  
in her              list                                           confetti           flowers
float     together
they mask
this kiss 
lifts      gripping           one another 
as death
falls                  all
around            them               this
election                                   is over  this is
our result







this kiss                       is

seen                from                around            a world
30 pairs of eyes                       oil                    in his ‘fro
orange                         sliced   frescos
& dominoes                waffle
through                       her s-curls                              
their hands                  documented
carelessly
holding                                                           time

his nose           a phallus
dips gently                  in her mouth
a waiting         black                                        carrot             
their necks                  disappear 

blue flowers                float
in this              back                ground 
like Koi                        fish      lipping
or         a          disease
burping up                  in         the public                   pool






idylls

his head                      
kisses   her fourth       eye                  her                  
hands
are drawn                    in front            of her                          chest

rest
gloves             
lean                 red &                           green

like                                                      Christmas                    mittens
a sailboat on her                                                                     shoulder
& black                                                missiles                                  
toe                                                       over her                      head