Tuesday Half Four

She prowled the off-green hallways

'Til she grew sheathed talons on her toes--

The tap dance ballerina of ward five,

Queen of cockroaches

Adored by the delusional.

"Oh come in, come in,

My gentleman caller," she croons to the

Frantic orderlies on the other side of the door, as she

Picks the Director's bones clean,

Crouching over him like the new-birthed phoenix

Of some unprescribed

Gasoline opera.

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