Perdita’s confusing profusion of parts
makes it impossible to know
which way up
she goes.
She flutters beneath
the camera’s shuttered stare,
butterfly-pretty,
laid bare.
—–
Perdita wears a new face
every day of the week.
The old ones accumulate
in her wardrobe,
curling at the edges
as they dry out.
—–
Download Broken Perdita!
Perdita’s foot, in a glass slipper.
Perdita’s hand, in marriage.
Perdita’s head, on a plate.
—–
Sugared splice of our zeitgeist.
—–
Perdita loses herself in
hyperfast drowsy porno vignettes,
mind stuttering,
body wired,
in pieces,
in and out
of someone else’s
consciousness
—–
The empty stage.
—–
When Perdita steps
into her wardrobe
she enters herself.
Scarlet dresses gape at her,
fake furs paw her.
When she exits
she’s stripped bare.
—–
One yellow LA morning
Perdita wakes up
and realises she’s less real
than the smashed mirror
by her bed.
—–
Copyright James Knight. All rights reserved.
