myth-fish in xanadu


point of view: you are slick-wet, wriggly &

dying on the marbled floor of orson welles’

monochromatic wonderland home.


as dorothy comingore storms out of xanadu,

she trips over you—faceplants all operatic

& pretty, nosebleeds black movie blood


that drip drip drips into a pool around

her gold-brown halo of an updo. can

a person die from too much life?


1939: the year after you are discovered,

scientists call you coelacanth, a name

previously reserved for fossilized things—


same year, orson arrives on the set of citizen kane,

calls the studio the greatest electric train set a boy

ever had. here is a secret, myth-fish:


you were first dissected in xanadu. scientists

don’t talk about this—it was not a proper lab,

but they cut you to chunks in a room full


of half-painted set pieces hours after they

found you on that pretty marble floor.

filleted & taxidermied your big fat body.


& from the doorway, even dorothy comingore

watched, bloody, gray light spilling over her,

wine glass situated firmly in her hand.