Issue 8
September 2001
Katie Kadue
I am a high school student from the Los Angeles area and doubt very much if I can conjure up any relevant information for a bio. I spend most of my time devoted to achieving the starving-artist persona, which is very difficult when you're bourgeois in every sense of the word and live with parents who are still married. My first published piece is forthcoming in Recursive Angel, which serves as much-needed validation and saves me from tearing out my hair in frustration.
“Fame's Stepsister”
I was so sure we had captured beautiful
and placed her in a mirrored glass cage,
as not to break her fragile wings.
But she is a wild creature, to be sure,
and she is bitter when she is typecast,
as so many starving actresses are,
and there seems to be no food in this town
so she will sell her body on the street.
My sisters and I are the whores of her existence
and we follow her sinful crusade in dubious obedience,
and while she is priceless we will make a tidy sum
so I can finally pay for my tears
and have a bit left over for your love."To a Friend"
I wonder if this lace and leather will be enough
to get him into bed
so I can tap out the spasms of his heart
when I give his passion a peck on the cheek
that keeps him begging for my purring chastity.
He will fall asleep inside my dreams
and in the dark early hours of the afterglow,
when I am disturbed from caresses of friendly nightmares,
I will assure myself of a medium
between platonic and carnal,
and find it in his arms
as I wake to his burning sleepless eyes."Health"
Take care of yourself, honey,
get your protein, remember to smile
as if these platitudes were worth your approval.
Sparkle and fade but the shine is muted,
blending slowly into normalcy.
(As if complacency were worth my lust.)