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.