The sun is imploding, or does she
ex-plode like the core of a rat
twisting insides out?
It is the end
of something, sure of it.
She has turned herself
upside down to that Britney
song, outstretched like an ostrich’s
arm, reaching for the devil’s cup.
No, it wasn’t Britney-
when the core is frozen over,
they prescribe that American Idol
girl, that’s how they do it, too much ash –
It is time to turn on
the rope, it is the hum,
no, the purr of a mouse,
upstairs it is not the sun,
they decided her stinger would melt
in the white with the bees,
instead the grey collapses in, yellow
or the color of stone, the cat is waking up
the neighbors barking, it is the end of something,
sure of it, it is the sound of static, no –
she could talk to the moon, an old friend, heart is
so heavy like a bandaid, is it still buzzing, too much ash,
she’s toxic, she’s slipping, upside down under, the sun does explode,
they’ve decided on that, sure of it, no, it was Britney, sure of it, do her eyes still
look blue under the microscope, don’t be absurd, it’s all viscera now, whatever-
do we feel sorry for her now.