Snow White Sick

 

Snow White Sick

I have been hysterically poisoned
Snow White not wanting the prince

I lie on my glass mattress
my head made of glass, and my body

shrinking, pale, a thin white moon
in the blue dark of the forest

poetry is not a cure; it cannot
be bled from me, swallowed pink

angrily fighting the source
of this illness. Somewhere

in this building is clear, clear
water for me to drink