I carved out my flesh with
pressed until the blood mixed with
the spit, till I perspired pearls
and rose like Venus through all your girls,
the trapdoor in your best laid hell
I wanted to be more than the voluptuous swell
devouring harbors, rock and Andromeda,
longing for some divining rod
to seek me out, to puncture
I was made for piercing,
my soft belly, a ballroom beneath a placid lake,
a body begging to be peopled:
I am the Georgian appetite, unsmiling
in so many portraits,
pouring out of gowns and corsets, the unshucked oyster,
a loaded pistol
and nowhere to fire
I won’t become the bottled sex,
the wolfsbane-champagne, vintage
do all muses wish to abort their artists?
Do you know what Garbo
said when asked why she quit Hollywood?
“I had made enough faces.”
Emily Linstrom is a NYC-based artist. Her writing and photography have been featured by/in Three Rooms Press, Rose Red Review, Project Naked, Goblin Fruit and NAILED. A burlesque & sideshow veteran, she has eaten fire and walked on glass for the likes of Cirque du Soleil, The Slipper Room, Brooklyn Circus Co., New York Fashion Week, the Bowery Poetry Club, and various short film installations and music videos. She is currently wrapping two film projects, one of which is based upon an original short story.