Museum of Impending Death
The newborns born into this
might have to be contained
in one space for the rest of their little lives.
Or the newborns might be stillborns
stored inside pickled egg containers.
Or the newborns might just be a hoax.
A doll whose eyes are bleeding
sour raspberry jam. A mouth rasping,
trying to hiss its way out of a dollhouse.
Or the newborn baby dolls might stick
their little legs out and then break
into pieces, shake on the floor.
Twisting all around and infected.
Incurable.
