– Natalie Young –


The words spun from my spouse’s mouth: I don’t see
what the big deal is—it’s not like Elvis died.
The vibe
communicable, it wasn’t long before the dog chewed his face
off the book cover. A headless, special-edition moonwalker.

Got it in my brain, Dangerous songs. 13, in love
with the notion of heaven and drawing hearts around an icon. Shuffling the quiet
suburban sidewalk, fasting for answers about mortality, huffing
Keep it in the Closet.

From the coroner’s report: Decedent's head hair is sparse
and is connected to a wig. The decedent's overall skin has patches
of light and dark pigmented areas… a pink tattoo
in the region of the lips…

One minute it’s the Superbowl, the next a baby, Blanket, dangling.
Who thought we could say pervert and King in connected breaths?

An inadvertent message from the same mouth: It’s beautiful,
not really a mountain, but what the miners left. What’s left
of a mountain is beautiful.

Sequins. Stars. A carousel of lacquered horses.

One white glove.