Song (Revised)

She had always wanted
to open her mouth-
let truths spill out in
rainbow spirals
like Dorothy did once
under a Kansas sky,
hugging toto to her chest
and twirling, circling...

She opens a vein
instead;
pulls a ruby thread
with an exacto knife
almost all the way to the bend
where so long fluttered
at the distal end and someone
sang in a distant somewhere
while the fade out washed in-

she bought a ticket from oz
down a brick road painted
safety yellow,
guarded at stubborn points
by scarecrows with struck matches
and tin men holding
empty cans;
they tied yesterday's noose
across rust that spreads but
never spills-

afloat beneath a warm surface,
she worships lost idols
in a cracked clawfoot,
swims with lions along
an emerald coast as her breasts
rise like gods from the murk-
her heels tap ripples
that fan out in fragile rings;
they break apart in the heavy air.

She twirls in a black mirror,
a dripping reflection twists
through gray funnels,
rides the hues of her voice,
rushes up behind battened eyes-
they've come to tuck her in,
the woman who spins and spins;
following rainbow spirals
that spill out
in sudden tides.