Violet Vivian Escapes The Devils Island

what day is it today drunk dried in my glass
air could not break loose
I slipped sideways into my blue dress
all of night shushing a dry biscuit in my pocket
floated down that hallway 
does it hurt?
a warm body mouth-deep in water 
Henry said GOOD SON said BABY
applied the Host spit and mud 
bounced me up and down 
up and down 
I knew better 
stuffed my red shoes
under the itch sweater raised over my belly
seared in an iron pan
tippy-toed like coals and speech I could not
and school I never frost along my sides in the dark
run Violet run run run
my sisters three to a bed left gaping

outside I saw a wheel in the sky
and a bunch of cows with light shooting 
out their mouths in the bellow pasture
heard Henry caterwaul in his secret tunnel 
YOU DON’T HAVE A TICKET but I did I DID
and red shoes and a hole in my slipsy-slide
aching lay me down in clover 
I became a spirit called Holy Holy
my Jesus name
I was the first

PICTURES OF FIRES ‘BIG AND SMALL’ IN WHICH FIREMEN OR PERSONS
   LOSE THEIR LIVES
        ~Henry Darger

Leaked an ancient barrel on its side lost my hand-folded self bursting bees do you want to play? breath punched low in Downers Grove past Pickle Farm Road in a wheat field I dreamed of clam flats at large in time a rootless roamer a black thread spectral and ignored I pounded my hobnails like a bolt of sailcloth thumped on Father's cutting table scissors sluiced their glint blades their eye and angry beak jealous as a hornet in a junked up jalopy a pock-marked boy a zipgun stark and strange a knot of boils lined my spine now I lay me down to sleep in trout lily adder’s tongue carrion weed pearly everlasting rough stretched taut from end to end like the way polka dots slapped her legs atop you up what do you think about that for lucky and inside as if it meant something brighter than a sharp bite on the thigh Little Annie Rooney beset by shame it was my saint day June 1 come again come again I have a box the sea’s whore inside pleasure pooled between episodes empty as a fiddle case giving away its quick  

Rebecca Loudon is the author of Radish King and Cadaver Dogs. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Everyday Genius, Forklift, Ohio, and ElevenEleven. She is a professional musician and teaches music lessons to children.