She is hollowed out again,
like a tethered balloon, indifferent to its weightlessness.

She rocks incessantly in the infringement of her gown, pearly in all its flaunting……..
is there ever any sanity to the mix?
Her ass becoming part of the pavement, she thought there ought to be sugar patches for diabetics.
The trouble with time swallowing your tongue, forgetting sinks in.

And they ask again,
"What's your history?"
and she says, "A blind step could have killed me."

Dream of a barren landscape and call it "Mother"
No one ever minded until the analyst said "I’ll save you………" But she is like a cracker dissolving in water, and around the clock the mistress is tying her evening gown in knots to escape the undulating pattern of life under the chandelier.

In her mind she screamed in the glow of abstinence
and in spite of the agitation, her heart stopped.
But the swirling, the thing they said would stop, now throbs away in her head.............
And hoping for the door to stop its swing, she used her head to sound the alarm.

She is not the duchess folded in crimson,
She sleeps with her hand in her mouth.
She is not misaligned with your vision,
Only her malignancies have gone south.

I hear she's sweeping.........her corners are never clean, although she tried to inhale all the dissonance.
I wonder, has she been swept away, or is she waiting to be swallowed by the earth?

If she is everything I can remember, she is the countenance no one talked about.
A dirty little secret binding the sane to their will.
And I would like nothing more than to forget…..
but the wind is mindful, and its tolerances shape the earth,
So she is something like a draft in my memory,
where I find singularity as if in prayer.

Just the other day I saw her with the foam padding.........
"it absorbs the sound of the timbre cacophony"
and the girls in her head took a sledgehammer to the porcelain.

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