The Faceless Girl Tells Stories

by Kirsty Logan

Dusty hands uncurl against triplelocked chains

Whitefurred redeyed rabbits flicker across tiles

Peacock feathers seesaw from naked rafters

A ceiling rises, burn-white, spread like a seashell

Piano upturned, victim to mushrooms celebrating up through its tendons

The scene is set

For the faceless girl.


She struts she crawls she evaporates onto the stage

To a furred throne whiter than seableached bones

Whiter than chicken bellyfeathers stitched to her skin

Fingers on calfskin tapping along strange spines

Nailtips metalled and tasting of blood, spreading gilded pages with a tlickt

She rolls her neck

And begins to read.