Split

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   You watch me sprout from the seaweed
         tasting the strawberries of my hair
                   taunting the tongue
                      to wilt
                   at the sight of a soggy footprint 
         buried beneath the beach.
   Five even puncture wounds
         cemented to your bullet proof chest,
                   foaming at the rims
                      the coral of this tide pool.
                   From this tomb of tangles
         I see your dust
   pruning in the water.
         I speak to you
                   the red rubber words
                      of my dilated dimples,
                   the undercurrent flavour
                                  of this artificial kiss.

                                      - Rachel Gilliatt

Broken Blender

Broken Blender

please stand back
of the yellow line:
our blender broke
in the bottom of a barrel

the closed closet door -
a yellow line breached for a dust pan

pretend it's the Raggedy-Anne doll
being dragged by her hair
not you

hide her under the bed

hide-and-no-go-seek -
it's mom's turn to change the diapers anyway

dinner time - game over
wipe the dust from Anne's hair
and creep out
to go hug daddydave

he lies with 'hello'
her lie's in her eyes
(like the first day of school)

the cue:
"we have to go talk"

they make a pit-stop in the closet,
daddydave's coughing chokes
the sloppy sound of kisses
(gross)
they leave the closed closet door behind
muffling their talk 
with a radio.
a Bullwinkle show
later, they return
in new clothes

     finished the dishes
     to watch my cartoons
     a blender roars in the background:
     GET THE FUCK OUT

cold steps
under a street lamp - 
or was it just cement
next to the washing machine?

the rolling finger hills
embedded in my skin
are on fire Anne -
so his bum - Bitch

damn doll
didn't change the diapers

          please stand back
          of the yellow line:
          our blender broke
          in the bottom
          - in the bottom of

she woke up one day
and cleaned the closet
in 12 steps

28 days and half a year:
she learned to be an adult
- I a child?
she traded time 
for colourful key tags -
daddydave
got his for free
and my brothers'
custody

               please stand back 
               of the yellow line:
               our blender broke
               from here to vancouver

                             - Rachel Gilliatt

Lady of Rank

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you drive
the beetle
right out,
lady

leafy earrings
tease
your scarf
from down under
as you lace
my coffee
with pesticide

your side
of the table is cool
but you wear
wide-rimmed sunglasses
in the shade

like hipsters do
with their grasshopper
leggings
exposed

i still like the song though

i wonder
if i bought your perfume
would the smell of old olives
infest
my memory -
      like piles
      of rot

polka dotting
the weave
of my garden gloves
you could never 
pull off

you weed
etiquette
but miss 
daisies

and now i bag
all that is left -

surface deep

       - Rachel Gilliatt

To Be Pretty

To Be Pretty           I'll wait for you always behind this veil
           With an age of adversity to gain
           Don't you dare think I am lost in your jail

           Impose upon me your makeshift limp male
           And fuck my brains out to ravish me sane
           I'll wait for you always behind this veil

           As long as you're willing to hear me wail
           No fucking wonder I'm your lovesick Jane
           Don't you dare think I am lost in your jail

           I'm the girl you always wanted to nail
           You spread my legs with your frivolous chain
           I'll wait for you always behind this veil

           Another stop on your conquest for tail
           I pop some pills to relinquish the pain
           Don't you dare think I am lost in your jail

           Sooner or later I am bound to fail
           I will glide your blade up against my vein
           I'll wait for you always behind this veil
           Don't you dare think I am lost in your jail

                                 - Rachel Gilliatt

Of My Invitation

Of My Invitation

                 invent, 
                 in event,
                 a few procedures:

                 in breath
                 you will percolate
                           slivers
                 of concrete bubbles
                 that pop

                 i stick out my tongue
                 and taste
                 sweaty pavement
                 weighted
                 by a double-plied 
                 mirage

                 and yet you jam
                 with an eardrum beat
                 still stinging alone
                 to this parched note

                          - Rachel Gilliatt