Paula Ray is a musician from  Wilmington, North Carolina with a crazy rhythm in her veins and twisted thoughts  stuck to her tongue. She's a woodwind specialist and poet/fiction writer. Her  work has appeared in elimae, decomP, DOGZPLOT, Word Riot, and other small press  zines. For more information about Paula, visit:  http//:musicalpencil.blogspot.com.

Three Poems (January 20, 2010. Issue 13.)

Play-Doh People

Oh, how the little brat did eat the epiphany-glow
right off my face with his told-you-so smirk.
Children aren't supposed to know real things,
only make-believe.

We made blue and green play-dough people
then tore them from limb to limb,
pressed their thighs together to form the world.

He said it needed arms.
I said arms would get in the way--they'd always be
reaching out and slapping everything
when it spun around.

He said, that's okay,
at least it'd feel something.

I told him slapping wasn't a nice way to feel.

He asked me why I let Daddy do it.

Chambered Heart

He's an amputated ass cut off from  the world--
a hillbilly hermit with toothless grin.
Her heart is the  chamber pot he uses during bad weather.
She hides in the cupboard 'til he  reaches for her handle.

When she was new, he filled her with  store-bought manure and
planted bulbs and seeds that produced colorful  flowers.
He sat her on the windowsill and watered her weekly.
The weeks  have faded into never.

Now, she is a chore.
He bleaches her insides  and
turns her upside down on the porch.

When she's face down, 
she feels like a skinless drum--
waiting for a slap, a beating, a  tightening of her head.

When he flips her over, she realizes,
she's  either empty or full of his shit.

Infection

He's the fever-blister on the  underside of my lip
I keep tonguing
and wincing when salt  stings the sore.

I eat pretzels
with a contortionist  mouth--
convinced I can chew and avoid
my own bottom  lip.

I fail,
swallow,
and reach for another twisted  salt-lick.

He just sits there,
burning,
putting out his  cigarette-smile
in the grit of my pout.

He equals a  sexually transmitted disease.

He equals cancer,
but when I  subtract him,
nothing adds up to  me.