Dollhouse Architect’s Digest

The Dollhouse Architect’s Digest is a space where the dollhouse architect will clear her mind in sonnet and other poetry forms every once in a while.  

Architectural Note:  I wrote this sonnet last night for Crow Carriage, a poetic novel I’m writing and Amy Suzanne is illustrating.  This sonnet takes place when The Mistress of Malice has been relegated to the basement after her betrayal of the evil nobleman Doctor by spying on his terrible experiment upstairs.   For her betrayal, she has been left in a rat-infested basement ona bare mattress.  When the woman who had been her lady’s maid upstairs comes to check on what she hopes to be a humbled prisoner, she finds the girl asleep amidst a room of dead, half-eaten rats. Afraid of what sort of sorceress the girl must be, the maid attacks what she does not understand.   (May 29th, 2020)

A Little Girl Who Does Not Deign To Die 

Inside a massacre in black, what will 

luminesce between crack of basement door 

is thunderbolt animating eyes, shuttered, still

while you lie amidst inert mischief, floor 

of infinitesimal gore.  What invades 

as more light pours down your staircase,

presents a frightful female face — once maid 

now mistress within this forsaken place.

What scurries over furry backs, half devoured,

(all collapsed) corpses crunched beneath a laced

up boot will fall upon you like a brute.

Servile fingers wrap about a neck, wait 

no more, circumspect, on the disrepute 

recipient of some noblesse oblige —

a little girl who does not deign to die.




Architectural Note:  This first poem is something I felt after watching Tiger King and feeling for Travis Maldonado, who I related to as a person who suffered from sexual and other addictions. Welcome to my diary in sonnets.  (May 11th, 2020)

I Never Fucked A Tiger King 

for Travis Maldonado

but once almost a Smoothie King I met
on cocaine at a rave one night.  Said I
wouldn’t but I knew I might.  I had let
his kind inside before who offered lines
even one who called me a whore to the
entire population of our punk rock bar. Was
not there but word travels far in itty
bitty southern towns of Wednesday Addams
fleshlights in skintight velvet gowns who would
swallow anything they had found.  I know I am
no different than a teenager who put
on a ring, by methamphetamines damned
to wed Tiger Kings, lives we can’t abide.
I too fucked men who made me want to die.