she was like a walking floral arrangement marinated in forced politeness glazed with jealousy and sprinkled with pride but there was the voice in her jar, the cry madness or God? a baby or a cat in heat? she asked but nobody knew all those puny politicians she met fake jesuses and fake madonnas poorly acting bad lovers and bad clowns breath odor apollos under the unbathed sun... she was pickled in her baby time stamped with madonna's face for eternal shame her cemented heart did not remember itself 'slap me, make me laugh, i provoke, i don't beg' became its epitaph engraved on a city sidewalk by her tears she once shed before she became a walking howl of a desert with a whip in her claws and a stare of a chef her mind covered with thick layers of caramel she kept the wind still with sugar icing and hiding from the sun under the layers of fondant futility became her way vanity became her safety goggles as she walked with less spring and more ...
Posts
