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MARILYN KNOWS SHE SHOULD MAKE HERSELF get out from the quilt blurring the outside world as much as valium or phenobarbital, a cocoon she can escape in, softness to hold her, blur edges, camouflage what jabbed from inside and out. She doesn't want to call the limo for the studio, work out, have her hair yanked and bleached. Today she doesn't care if this is the last time they let her thru the gate. She hugs her pillow. In another life she might hot-foot it to take tap, pluck her eyebrows, shave way up high as if to clear a path for heavy traffic up inside her. In another life she'd stay Norma Jean, just go to movies, not be in them, have some Billy Jo who wouldn't shoot her on red satin with not just her lips parted, or shoot air up under her dress first, check- ing out her see thru panties, but just fill her soft and slowly as feathers. |
