melissa christine goodrum

hotel room

she’s been somewhere
an event with felt hats
& required feathers
sharp now, she’s undressed
alert in red whale lip
fat & a one piece

it’s done
her auburn hair still shapen
her mind tendrils unfall
as smoke-curtained creatures
long trapped in cool amber

shit now there’s no spring
to her mind flit
a formerly black-and-white film
an ancient & Mesozoic world
no, see simply a mattress
& museum dioramas
from the era of long-necked
dinosaurs, silent movie stars
& white sheets

this, a filthy fifties noir trapped
in her caramel brown attaché

some case you have there.
the evidence uncovered in a dress
where plucked purple-esc irises spot
the pigmented fabric
from nearly transparent to dark
like bird fossils burning holes

her black stilettos left empty
one-by-one, left & then right
on the way inside

read "a new york movie" & "morning sun" by melissa christine goodrum