Rebecca Papillon

Rebecca Papillon Poems

The Best Poem Of Rebecca Papillon

Dark Matter

Taut skin of death
Pallor of onions
Mouth open
catching air

Priest chants ineffectually
-silly man-
he bastes her brow
(oily crosses won't
save her now)

Brand-new ear-rings
straight to landfill
New skirt, new blouse
-what a hoax-
to furnish wormholes

When I go, don't
waste breath on idle
rosaries. Dice my flesh
for science, send me

starkers into the
furnace (what care I)
less sentient than apple pips
less conscious than the rind

I'll bang and pop
like fat in the pan
like hydrogen exploding
like stars into dust.
Oh, cry if you must.

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