in black stilettos
i reach for my toes,
the hair on my head falls forward like
fog descending a mountain slope,
baroque flourishes bleed now
with an inky celebratory gesture,
why didnt i ask the main character to help me is
symbolized by my unspoken acceptance,
identify if you like it or not.
pink is the bird with snake talons hovering.
the train almost killed me, i said.
a tulipped locomotive with
hot showers and hooves strewn about,
hidden in the subtext
a crocheted black bag
a masquerade mask
a multi headed spinal column
a backdoor bo peep,
saints love this, he said.
the purity of a sinner who is
ejaculated from eden in
one ruddy thrust,
sugarcoated in mothwing divinity,
poised to know what it feels like
to be deliberate, i slept