Her corpse is
Perfectly preserved
Deep within my linen closet
Locked her up in formaldehyde
Tied her up with twine
So you can see pale
Bound behind her night gown
Hair is loose and free-floating
Waving like loose entrails
Watch the bubbles trail
So moving against that body
Following that svelte shape
White within the yellow
She glows like Mary
Feel her bunched and cramped
Within your heart
She's not bleeding anymore
The loose black line
Drawn against her porcelain skin
No longer weeps
For another razor
As her eyes no longer cry
For another touch
Lips that no longer breathe
Will never be kissed again
But place your lips up to the glass
And perhaps
her soul will embrace you
Ah, I know her face
Still longing to be touched
By chemical stained hands
But forever she's meant to swim
Weaving in and out of bubbles
Beauty reverently watched
But never felt
The perfect Grecian nose
and highlighted cheeks
Hair like blood on old cotton
Skin like lobotomy scars
That dress unstained
The blister body
That longs to burst
From its cloth captor
I think of her voice at times
Smooth as a scalpel
Driving througha fresh belly
Feet like soft gloves
That always wait for your approach
I don't display her for all eyes
I don't view her in the flashing tube lights
Too heavenly for light
For air
Fir life
She's my mistress of the blood-lined shadows
My lover in the stains
She bled when those hips were cut
When I sliced within
And drew out her other self
My hands molded in perfect time
To those screams
So much for living dolls

And there she floats
Like a masterpiece left untouched
After the artist has made his mark

inspired by the poem "My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning


Neuralgia Survey
Interview With Die Symphony

The Printwork of AR

The Writings of James Mansfield
Magic Beetle--Bill Wickham

Regular Stuff:
Le Momo
Some Good Advice

Cover image by Ego Plum
clipart, manipulations, editor--AR
co-editor, creator--Grant Hawkins