Lorelei Bacht

I nearly __________ the bird.
I nearly lost the __________.

My magic exposed as self-talk:
a useless flutter of black wings,
a guttural the size of __________’s silence.

Forcing it, then discounting it,
while someone else was __________ it.

The sheep murdered the wolf – or did it?
That __________ just isn’t right – or is it?

What is the nature of this beast?

At the bottom of the __________,
you must have heard it too, the yelping
wounded brute – it cried:

__________ anger, __________ mother,
__________ ring to the lows of the river,
a knife __________, a folded__________,

incapable of murder.

The sheep sent back to the __________
house – I’d have preferred it slaughtered.

Will it stay put, has it been cured
from __________ of grandeur? Will it
stay __________ or must I send
a strongly worded letter?

I nearly killed the __________.
I nearly __________ the man.

My __________ at the top of his list
again – I must have __________
something.

__________, what was it?

i have made a monster. i have made it
large and red. i said: protect me.

it protects me. by bludgeoning every-
one on the head. it makes large red

burgeons on every wall. it falls
every-one down the stairs. it does not

care. it says. you are diminutive and
diminished. but i am might. i will fit you

birdlike into my mouth and chew
the neighbours back into order.

give me a call when anyone questions.
give me a call and you will find that i

have already broken the phone. thrown
the dog in the trash. and smashed

every single teacup. without teacups
your house will be more comfortable.

you will not need to twist tears out
of your pillow come dawn. ever

again. i have made a monster. i have
made it. and now it claims. obey me.