Birthday Carnival/esque 


Red lips, full of sin – new lipstick                        (lick my teeth just in case).  

You are less than a hero; I am more than a temptress.

Water & thirst evaporate in dead smoke. Nicotine loiters slowly only indoors.

I inhale and - - - crush/crash/crumble/can’t focus - -   Don’t step on that BROKEN glass!

            (What? Did you do it?)

Birthdays in caramel. Cards for Billie & Pat, best wishes.

I brush my hair and touch the hair of a girl dressed as Dorothy.

Dorothy smiles. She smokes with me.

Alive smoke, we think.

You vanished?

Ah, yes, Dorothy isn’t

friends with the Lion.

Compressing coldness – a Minister
of Death hands me his jacket. Cover up, Sister Luscious, Temptation & Abstinence United. Not that we don’t worship the short shininess of your attire!  

Fluid shards of glass.                                                          You’re long/langue gone.

Red lips now dripping of sin. Yet dry – (verbal not fleshy! & my costume won’t permit it.)

– the Lion’s name perspires & saturates the party –  

I rouse up Anger! Too slow! That net won’t catch you!

Lion roars, but no one comprehends.

Exodus of costumed/consumed guests:

I lost! 

Bottles with sounds of Dionysian majesty: Sister, have another.

A glass floats into my hand, (“is this a glass I see before me?”)

Adam & Eve giggle. A plush snake snugly wrapped around Eve’s
shoulders. They think it’s funny that a Nun,

Mary & Jesus, AND the first couple are drinking together.

Residual pain from anger, kicking nothing but air but


something that’s better than watching

your window break.

Your cat hates me (why do Lions have
cats anyways? Why did I trust you with my luggage?

Misplaced in Sweden.)

Lion,                                       Dorothy and I decide you are not worthy of us!

Dionysus and Apollo wink in consensus too – fix your
dirty window! I am apprehensive because I have no room in my stomach to
hate you.                                Fix. my. dirty. hate.

Happy birthday Billie! I bought you
fresh yellow flowers & kisses. Pat, you get wine.



- Stacy Kirpichova