The little vessel went down down down the hatch
And like the most luckless blade turned up
Bobbing on the shore’s of the Piggy’s Eldorado.
She had built her story out of bits of a maze
Pursued in the dodgier reaches
Of old issues of
Vogue. Haven’t we all
Been there? Untying our stays
Peering at the damage fading
In the mirror’s aristocratic depths
Our little vessel – vessel of blood, vessel of bile,
Vessel of flesh, vessel of lips, nails, all the peripherals –
Sees that rise and shine won’t cut it.
But what else is there?
- Karen Chamisso
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