Even with a broken arm
          The girl shoots a bullet through the back
          of a car that carries
          her Mother’s body


          While a cold stick
          brushes against a squirrel’s tail
          startling it
          to death

You are a sharkskin girl, I say,
as I pull her teeth apart and put them into little glass jars.
You make me young again, I purr,
as I meld my hip to her backbone.
She is vanilla soft-serve iced tea, I think,
with a cherry crushed between my teeth.
This is not rock and roll, I plead,
as my blood
           trickles down the silver glassware,
                              all the way onto her toes,
                                                           all the way onto the