For Aveline de Rais Rubinshteyn
she is standing in thrall to the tempest
she has nothing to lose but her hide
she knows all the tricks and she’s seen all the hicks
and she’s secretly crying inside
her skin is a rocking horse palimpsest
she has nothing to give but her throat
the hum of the trees and the buzzing of bees
and a smile like an overblown coat
so she screams when the wireless plays songs from the west
and she throws away needles and pills
she’s done with the dolls and the blonde gangster molls
and she packs up and heads for the hills