Sending poetry to the world
in the way a pumpkin rots
from the inside out
pulp soft and weak
thick orange walls caving
in upon itself
such is my girl putting on her makeup slowly just inches from a mirror seeing only
more spots to cover
such is my girl
put out on a curb
thick skin unaware
night blind
she sits achingly slow
next to the body
every wall shadow
watches as shoulders
on two wrists, bend
the form senses
the weight but stirs
only one eye.
alone means
that they all pile up
like so many November leaves
harbingers each
of skeletal limbs left cold
like a rug dirty with the
piling up of days
that creep shadowy down
the brick hall —
—
a heart beats faint with
prescience that for now
the art is safe.
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