No Bulls in the China Cabinet by Charlotte Seley

 

I don’t believe in damaged goods.
When I hear echoing hooves I change
my locks and shift my space.

A massive monstrosity, a wooden chest
of delicates where all the sparkle lives,
I am pinkies out and parasols so save me
for watercress sandwiches and the like.

27 men in tasseled tops
waving muletas live inside
and you are double the bulls
seeing red in a cabinet full
with neat rows of china.

Think flying cutlery, jaws of life,
the moon’s drunk face as cracks
in the windshield spread like liquid.

You know what they say:
Grab the bull by the horns.

You know what they say:
Mess with the bull, get the horns.

You know what I say:
I’m made of matadors and breakables,
swords and sequins, antagonizing reproach.

previously published at interrupture

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Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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