Marilyn Lies Under the Roots of Trees
Music by Christopher Aitken

thinks of the men who said tho she was sexy
on the screen, she might as well have been
dead in the blankets. Thinks how "now I am,
I'm free, don't have to smell garlic breath,

be rubbed raw by stubble." None of them
knew her, none of them had a clue what would
touch the lava under the aching. "Being dead
is a relief. I don't have to dye my hair,

work on cellulite, nobody drools for my
boobs pressed in tight uplifted cages or
looks up my dress. I don't have to do
a hundred sit ups, be moist pink flesh,

pretend to keep coming. It's cool down here
but a little boring. Once I dreamt of a
Siamese twin who could read my thoughts, felt
hot or cold when I was. We'd share the same

heart, be together at death. Sometimes
I think I'd like an other me, someone I
could be myself with, but a part that was
a little different, could get inside,

take me out of myself but not shove or tear
or burn or give me something I can't
use. A penis that's part me, that won't
keep me up or let me down. I'd be in control

until I was ready not to be. Not a dildo
of plastic that those flesh men were, but
a penis with a mouth to suck and kiss and
even more talk to me

Music by Christopher Aitken
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