Good God Mother
I am a straightjacket girl in a ballroom world. I have
forgotten how to follow the glitter-
brick road. Mirrors
come to paint me. It tickles.
I laugh and break.
Their concentration
requires definition – mine.
I look myself up
and down seems to be the only probability. I jump
on one foot in the middle of a rainstorm
hoping to strike right.
Wrong!
Everything runs. Back
to basic training I go.
Of Coffee
grounds
meet
water
brew
energized
morning
breath
drip pools
cup carries
caffeinated
gold
Reverberations. In Blue.
I am a broken hollow
filled with my own echo.
I haunt
myself with abandoned
desires designed to trick me
out as “normal.”
It never works. I am
immune to the sound
of my own voice (not to mention
my truly pathetic sales pitch). Still
I practice repeating retreating
repenting (occasionally)
even reinventing . . . harmony
is the definition
[of so much more than]
horrifying.
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