with teeth like piano keys,
bought her soul at a cornerstore.
in a hole of concrete and routine,
she paints on a grin,
like poison come to supper,
like a convent cat,
like a crack in the pavement,
like a crooked high hat,
like a worn out washboard,
like a twisted cassete,
like diamonds in the dirt,
like an empty pack of cigarettes.
a heart that drains
at the rate of a battery.
with teeth like piano keys,
she rains down a melody,
all up and over me,
resonates everything.
a self-written eulogy,
she tried to forget--
but held it up in effigy and
polyethelyne regret,
like a homesick angel,
like a bubble of air,
like an unsure sine wave,
like your unheard prayers,
like a lonely balloon,
like a cold satellite,
like a sigh from a cherub,
like the poems you write.
an energy that dies
at the rate of autonomy.
with eyes like LEDs,
she transplants her soul
to a prozac bottle,
half empty, half full.
No comments:
Post a Comment