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Jessie Janeshek

Fleshing Out the Blonde Dahlia Deux

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Faithful sky
blue blade

Terrible sky two

and you needn't watch children
re-row a river


So let's find my body
at Parc de la Bercy

bis a bis sistering
yellow-white vinyl


I reiterate lace
behind homeless men's knapsacks

or in the grass square
where snapdragons drain

Crime Scene Queen

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Fungi sprung in my armpits.

Moss-spotted stars

    circled my hunger

caterwauled                     swanned.


You demonstrated intimacy
variegated tiara
a trunk with eight locks

rearranged my black bones
on light-sensitive paper.
Glass bloodhounds showed up.

The Policeman Sees Morals through Her Red Hot Slit

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Should I find my triptych                                                 rustred       kickbald
  iron-ferned or bloated                                                       next to the river?

My remote-control autospot                                             sniffs up bloodhind
corpsecatch       corpsestory

  leashes the rocking     satyr fast panting
curing and muraling                     her princess bed

 her black canopy clashes             and out that sad window
prime view of the getaway van

Black Dahlia Combo

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              I wrote some of my best poems
                  under the pump swings
              and it wasn't refusal

nor hazy desire

              to scribe the nude man in red lipstick

who unlatched Zephyr's black pussy

                  then kissed my sex


I found her triptyched         ever pursuing

greenbowed     unbedroomed             ever pursued


              and consider it this way
              her death changed my life

Crime Scene 19

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They found me in serious vegetation

speculum coning open the glow

said                     intentionally posthumous

a dahlia                 a rayograph

  artfully gone


They laid me in frou frou

mottled all night

      a virgin?     yeah, right

zipped out a lung

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