Dissections logo scissors body by Deena Warner

 


Dissections logo pterodactyl by Deena Warner


 

 

 

 









Artwork: Lady of Flames by Will Jacques


A Banquet of Tea and Sugar
Valley Forge 1777
Marge Simon

i.

The British were a prissy lot
with highly polished boots
and shiny buttons
on their bright red coats

all musket and cannon,
orders, rules, regulations
marching in formations
sworn by oath to die
for King and Country.

We joined up with Washington,
my brother Abe and me.
Got our own uniforms,
boots and muskets, as good
as any Lobster’s (we said)

but the fit was lacking,
and they didn’t last the year;
sometimes we had to rob the dead
and dye those red coats blue.

ii.

A banquet of tea and sugar
twice daily if you’re standing up.
Blood on the blanket you slept under.
Draped around your shoulders,
it becomes your winter cloak –
that part wasn’t in the deal

because now you know this fucking camp
could be your final resting place
and you’re fighting another kind of war
which is as real as the scalding cold
beneath your bare feet in this
wilderness from hell.

Distant music beckons you to follow,
but it’s just some guy’s harmonica.
Not the kid who played the fife,
nobody’s seen him since Brandywine.

You are seventeen going on forty
with a beard of ice, and a cough
that doubles you in half,
your guts are leaking blood.

Around and around
in the morning mist
the snow queen dances,
her transparent form wavers
in your fever dream,

spring a hundred years away.

(from Silver Blade #50)

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Pygmalion

Marge Simon

I.

Dissatisfied with common femmes
each with a flaw or two, or lacking something he desires
(he's tried a hundred lovers and a dozen wives),
he plots to grow his perfect lover.

Purchases grade AAA eggs, fertilizes them himself,
Uses CRISPR to tweak and paint and mold.
Her hair the perfect reddish blond.
Her skin unblemished but for heart-shaped moles
each side her lovely inny navel.
her limbs long and shaped to dance
and fuck.
Her breasts abundant, or they will be.

Because she's grown from scratch.

He'll have to wait, of course.

And educate her, in his basement palace
in which she lives, unknowing of a larger world.

II.

Now he's seventy, she eighteen.
His pole of manhood withers and his ship
remains half-mast,
though they both keep trying.

He’s educated her on sex,
as well as how to read and write.
But not much sticks,
just the lover part, where she excels.
She dots her “i’s” with tiny hearts, serves
chocolates and prunes at tea,
cares nothing for the written word.
There’s no one else to fuck, and dancing is a bore.

Don’t blame the girl!
She’s still his own and perfect lover,
though now she yearns for something more.
When he finally totters off the mortal coil,
he is buried in the best of coffins, but
as is his right, and much to her dismay,


He takes her with him.


(from Marge Simon & Mary Turzillo, Victims, 2021)

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April Moon
Marge Simon

She turns sixteen,
sneaks out of the house alone
in her brand new skinny skirt and boots
feeling like she owns the April moon.

Girlfriend doesn’t show up
where they were supposed to meet
but a car pulls up, five older boys
she doesn’t recognize
and she knows she shouldn’t do this,
not with strangers, by herself
but this is her special night
with all the magic that comes
when your name is Diana
and you know you own the moon.

A cop finds her bruised and dazed
walking by the side of the road on Hwy 40 South.
There is blood and bits of skin under her fingernails.
He wraps her in his coat and brings her home.

Two months later, her mother’s pale face
holding the pregnancy test results in one hand
and a tissue in the other.

She wipes her eyes.
We have to get rid of it, Diana.
Your father can’t handle this.
I’m afraid he’ll beat you
as he did me long ago
over a misunderstanding.

Diana knows the scars on her mother’s face,
slightly below the right eye, and a tooth missing
(wasn’t it always missing?) when she smiles.
So it was done discretely, as her mother would have it.

But her father finds out anyway,
the doctor’s bill came to him.
Diana remembers the five corpses
of the young college boys
she walked away from that night.
Their skulls were caved in,
their bodies changed to those of stags,
for the magic of that night was hers.

So when her father comes looking for her,
belt in hand, face livid with outrage,
she is already packed up and gone
to live with an aunt in New York.

He’ll never know how lucky he was,
nor understand what happened to his daughter
when she discovered her new powers
under that particular April moon.


(from Marge Simon, Victims, 2021)




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Dissections logo pterodactyl by Deena Warner
Website maintained by Michelle Bernard - Contact michelle.bernard64@gmail.com - last updated March 11, 2022