Stella Corso
Identity Kit
Did you happen to bring the girl
reduced to a dog
with the accuracy of guilt
she suddenly knew what she needed
whipped around
the result a glorious snag
imprint of a triangle
rimmed with thigh
a bigger slap for
the knotting together of body and light
with flimsy authenticity
stripes on a loose chair
Then came a wave
flung frozen mid-path
to say they had been caught
clutching hands was somehow
aggressive even given how
she had freely passed
also they were up to no good
staring at the cheap bottom squatting
combed her hair feeling suspicious
notice how she slipped out quietly
Padded in the effluvia of her illness
she had a very wide three-inch hem
enough to make even a horse drool
dragging it absurdly behind her on the floor
hobbled away on her golden era hips
The dream was realistic in that it took effort
to effectively cock the gun
arrived on the scene and there was jizz all over
the sentimental kind which requires a special cleaner
except it hadn’t been invented yet
got pounded on a couch
where she sharpened her littlest toe into a shiv
The crux of her shapeless rage
swallowed most of her head
but the neck was something to be admired
once extended to its full length
a mere replica of her fuck
And when had she ever truly put her neck out for anyone?
And what about the neck extender that she purchased in vain?
Of course it’s cruel
the would-be robbery
of this aesthetic choice
irresistible image
now burned in her mind
so much that she walked until it was too late
held seal-like from the perspective of a camera
no one ever expected her to like art
her charm a string against which any crime
can be considered stronger than
any single famous bad thought
that owes nothing to anyone
and everything to beauty
––––
Stella Corso wrote the poetry collections Green Knife and Tantrum, both from Rescue Press, along with several chapbooks including DEEPFAKES (coming soon from mercury firs). She lives in New Orleans.