Sunday, 18 April 2010
I met a real taxidermist last week. Wow. Priscilla and I had a chat about this today and we agreed taxidermy is somewhat awesome. Then I wrote a poem.
He skinned the cat's carcass, set it to
soak in acid compote for a week
and a half. A magician with tinctures
and vials, he will cure the fur
like bacon, like tuberculosis.
Our pocketbooks will be the finest
in the city and we shall stitch ruffs
to the collars of our gloves. We will make
small soft lions of the palms of our hands.
A polyurethane trickster, his threads
evoke the missing myths, the skvader,
and the chimera. Limbs cobbled and
glass eyes, they exist in stitches
When I'm done, donate my body to his
tricks, wrap my heart in his pelts
and sew it to the moon. Stuff me in a
corner of curiosities, in a dime museum
for ogling. Tuck me careful for display
so that the seams do not show.