Lit-zine
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JU
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Serpentine
line
Lise
Colas
Princess of nothing
You meant the world to me once,
but I never really owned up--
except in that badly written note I almost
wished I'd fed to a goat.
I may have browsed your new profile by mistake,
making out from pixelled shadows
a back-lit halo and your
kinky grin of fallen angel.
I used to watch, smitten,
as you handled by the edges,
those inky polaroids,
taken without my consent--
our heads crudely painted out --
all for the good of art, you said.
I was your Eve, but you turned me cruelly.
I became a serpent on legs
eager to slink beneath your thick skin--
but I never did find out if you were rotten to the core.
How I hungered to feel your pulse quicken
against the fleshy coils of my measured death-clinch--
but I spared you in the end,
let you go back to that settled life.
I'm down to the very last relic--
a stranded shimmer of unplayable tape,
hooked into a figure of eight.
But no doubt I'll see you in my dreams--
a paler version, standing just the other side
of the golden mean,
your pencil raised in admiration
of my serpentine line.
She takes a sideways look,
pouting towards the abstract plant pot,
while in the pink corner,
dolly legs straddle a beach ball--
exposed below bikini line, a rash
of signature benday dots.
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lives on the South coast of England and writes poetry and short stories and is currently working on a novel which she describes as 'a wreck of a perfect work of chick-lit'.
Check out her writing and drawings here.
Lise Colas
Lise Colas
Bright young things from Islington
stroll the neat perimeters,
exchanging linear glances in the
white
glare of shape-shifting sorbet
pastels.
Her empty face stares into space,
and somewhere lost inside is the intent,
gliding between the edges of the
frame
in uncertain procession--
Princess of Nothing.