'On SABBATHA Eve' by Ashley Chambers

On SABBATHA Eve

Ashley Chambers | 1

I.

SABBATHA is the gummed

down headlong sick omniscience he forefingers inside me, soothsaying rime onto the only real page, blessèd be my shaking page: the sweating he, and his unnatural lingering long and slender slew of SWOMEN who must him.

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II.

The bigger world calls out to me but I am a jealous ice palace supporting SEVERITY’S story: a loss made frost by SWING and SWAY and STIFFENING my syllabic eagles eager to slaughter the hot sounds SHERILYN and SHAWNA set free

from a skyline surviving his earliest bendy ees on knees, So shoulder that slippery out now, SHES.

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III.

SONYA murmur-sponges

and tastes my page transgressed in swine and SONYA-SUE’S faith, sluicing SONYA-SLEW’S buzz or are my selving eyes spending SABBATHA who petrifies to pardon SUE-EVER will satisfy him next: I summon SAMANTHA’S skirmish next to freeze and unforgive his hallowed fathom for my inside soft, where he is both the served and the servant removes her dress.

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IV. Or where SAMANTHA’S spirit safaris his need for SUBJECT -IVITY like SISSY’S scree

draws breath from the vowels of me some SVETLANAS ago we swooned the synthesized audacity to plea sacrament into SABBATHA’S sousaphone made skin, we asked, and O we ask: to call him Savior, singing salient, SALLY-ing his sag and stony skull, until his scheming salvation is syntactical secretion: a sky-high steeple of saliva suggesting murder.

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V.

Because even the sun must turn a corner, he speaks up the skirt of my SURRENDER instead sexes SARAH’S salt SARAH-SHAY scatters to mount my SUBDIVISIONS divorcing with raised wrists a single throat to desiccate or who am I but STRETCH.

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VI.

But what happens on the page just won’t stay on the page: I must really bear the taloned.

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VII.

I let my talons out: the same savage pink protects his holy fiddling I don in order to succeed at words unfamiliar with mouth: I don’t have my own body but your inside operation bloats me beautifully, I write to roam my body -less wintered fields where the S-WOMEN starve to strangle his SWALLOW surviving only in S and in SEQUESTER so that he may stick his sick heat to our sickening one last time my clouds are darkening.

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VIII.

He swallows the SWOMEN’S souls until SABBATHA remembers to supply SYDNEY with SIERRA and then SORROW enters with her massive hooked bills and explicit wings and her SHAPELESS SENSE of flight, and her SYBIL,

and her SARAH-JANE, and each so appealing so unexpected in SUCCESSION — he doesn’t know what to do with his glacial brains ironed out against the jawlines of our frigid.

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Ashley Chambers | 10