Milk, filth, and honeyed starry dew lingers.
The doll-face strips sky down, her honey eyes
heavy laden with pink skinned pale plastic wild.
Her puppetry strings, intelligent enough to speak,
this, too, began in the theatrics of light and dark.
Goodbye, artifacts: rooms without locked doors,
steps without concrete path, flint made from flint.
Goodbye, fidelity. Adieu, adieu –,
think bathed filleted, flickers of tiny wrist.
A NUDE PORTRAIT OF SELF
you are a diaphanous aureate delicacy
you are expensive wine in a mysterious cellar
your bone china skin turns burgundy
in an impenetrable green glass bottle
budding the longer you wait
you are a cagey minx
who slithers on your empty
your time wasted is no longer
wasted time between intervals
of love and hate
you are organized chaotically
within a sense of spacious space.
Featured photo courtesy of the author.