im a stifled violence
unleashing the knife of my spine
inch by bloody inch
and im walking towards you.

my name is Circe.

I am God-drawn
and celibate
and obsessively
testing myself.
I look good
all smothered in your blood,
you look better
hanging from my bookshelf.

I am
scratching at your chest
and other places to let
the mice know
what I own
in case they forget
what I did,
who I am to you,
and come back
hungry for a hole
in that
home.

they cut across the black cat
lying surreptitiously
under porch rail
licking the flecks of skin
from her paw,
mistaking her for shadow.
they don’t cut
far.

they are mice
lying down
that are ripped
like the line of your
spine,
neck to base
in shreds.

you too are mine.

“the welcome mat”