10:53 AM

Marcy and the sushi that went through the washing machine.

I've been standing on my head
for nearly a week, teetering and struggling
to align my thoughts with any natural center of gravity I can find
in my torso, but
she's got hairknots and all kinds
of daisies to offer. She holds them out so vulnerably
to anyone who'll stand
in front of her. I don't think
you've got the patience for someone so desperate
or human. You've never been
the giving type, but,
for one reason or another, I can't imagine you accepting
those half-dead, veiny pinwheels with
faces like your family. Where would you put them?

I've got four colors
in my hair, but no flowers. You've got
your own ideas about socialism and swollen, bloody elbows
half the time. I'm a firm believer in
feeling as much as possible, but this is getting ridiculous. You want
all my inhalations dedicated, and if you're
going to write something, you'd better
move 'em and fast
because you've got
a hard road ahead if you think
you're getting anywhere on
your looks.