letters from the dollhouse

photo by Lauren Randolph for One Stop Poetry Sunday Photo Prompt

full moon, again
where are you? probably dead,
maybe cheating on me
that’s what the girls are sayin’
hang ’em all. filthy sluts
they don’t know about us

i sleep in a dollhouse
our bed’s just too big for me
too little for all my nothing, nothings
it’s okay, but the walls talk too much
and the ceiling is a two way mirror
with a hairline fracture

your “friends” are macking on me 24/7
with crappy card store trinkets,
silk raindrop roses
and car wash love song collections
they are tramps. i am a lady
i keep my legs crossed at the ankles

i saw a homeless guy on Athens Ave
he had eyes like yours and
the wild tangled hair of a boar
i miss you, so i shaved his head.
they say everyone has a double
ahhh but that’s just my imagination
running with scissors again

oh and i’m knitting a shroud
shut up. i really am. you’ll see it
when it’s finished. all for you, babe
fun fact: a doll’s legs will twitch
while being scalped
but only for just a little bit

so are you on your way back?
the dogs are howling,
108 of your friends are eating us
out of house and home
it’s half past yet another full moon
and my mythological clock is ticking.
Hit it.

Rene ~ 2011

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23 thoughts on “letters from the dollhouse

  1. rene this is awesome…love the second stanza really kicks it up…ugh what a life…and those dolls the way they talk…they see everything you know…those glassy eyes…scary things…smiles.

  2. I confess to not having read more than a scatter of your work — I'll bookmark your site and try to become a more faithful regular, because the voice here is so odd and strong and innocent and feral all at once, a high voice in the inner inner ear which is savaged by events yet undaunted, fighting back with scissors and a doll's blank, unsmirchable rectiitude. This poem fights fire with its own – Brendan

  3. Somehow missed this Sunday–what a great bunch of zingers in here, and not just shallowly sarcastic, but loaded with real authentic venom. Can't beat it with a stick. Great writing, Rene.

  4. This is strong, strong, work. And I don't blow smoke. You r imagination and ability to express such delightfully unusual imagery/metaphor in verse is exception. Not a cliche in sight. I also like the almost stream of consciousness/internal monologic tone/style, and the fact that it's in tidy septets. This stanza right here will stay with me a while, I knew it as soon as I read it – i sleep in a dollhouseour bed's just too big for metoo little for all my nothing, nothingsit's okay, but the walls talk too muchand the ceiling is a two way mirrorwith a hairline fracture >superbMany other places that are clever, scathing, deeply poetic, imaginative and humorous too. A lesser poem of this length I would, quite honestly, struggle to get through. Yours carried me along and I smiled for the whole journey. By the way, I run a poetry group meant specifically for constructive crit/honest feedback (as it is so lacking everywhere else, it seems, and how can we learn if everyone just tells us how good our work is all the time whatever?). If you're interested in an environment like that to get some straight-up feedback etc, you're welcome. The link is on my blogroll (it's called Facial Expression Poetry Circle).Outstanding piece.

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