Little Wind-up Toy

she sent me a carbon copy
                      laminated kiss
                      pressed her polymer lips
                      against my cheek

                       and thought I’d be pleased
                     by a cardboard cutout
                         of her silhouette

as though tracing her shadow
   across the wall
was enough to
      sate my libido; quench the flame
                              that emanates of my flesh
like a grass fire will burn out fast
she thought I would be gone in a flash

but though I’m a
twisted jackknife, crowbar,
metallic ribbons in her hair
a spidery wisp, spiral centriole;
centipede glassblower,

she’s a tattered harlot, with half the reputation
she bathes in the cattle cart
trough a memory; the kitchen sink

and I gave half a piece of my scalp.
to walk away, and leave this behind.
                     that hollow echo you hear
when you tap my head
         are the memories I’ve thrown out
           flushed into the septic tank

because I’d rather forget; the lives we led
than bother with half the past
that has passed
            through veins, and my tongue
                        I can sing myself to sleep
                        a loaded gun in sight