SOMETIMES I AM FAR TOO WICKED

 

 

I take a rake

to my bone

in bed

think I

am licensed

to do

nothing

being

wretched

all the time

my sickly

meadow

and stock

cabinets

a body

running out

of milk

I wish I could

permanently

relocate

my secret

ambition

put my teeth

in a birdcage

a melon

in the sand

you should

see them

grow out

of morality

into long horns

sometimes

I’m so jealous

of their hair

want to eat

the other

half of my face

like how you

take up

new religions

thoughtfully

rubbing

the wings

off peonies

it is a kind

of torture

every time

I cry

in astonishment

or when I

wear yellow

for no one

I am always

succumbing

to sleeplessness

my mother’s

heart

it is the eternal glitter

inside me

my gold necklace

some fixed capital

I wear

like strength

enact a minor goddess

on the street

I am so full

of baggage

and venom

am in the third

stage of my grief

putting a diamond

fine lines

erect

in my mouth

to feel the weight

go down

natural

lathering my legs

they are

so very dirty

and I like

their anger

believe they can be

an asset

streaks of cartilage

casting pink

over our city

like light

trailing time

I swear

I am fated

to be this

unlucky

knitting a forest

out of my hot

dry lips

and the orchestra

pit of my

breasts

growing sticky

with men

it is mournful

like the tulips

at the side

of the lot

tiny red stags

that spit

out stones

I watch them go

am too sensitive

to walk

everyday through

the same suffering

vistas making

a certain sense

of my shadow

and my eyes

constantly

seeking to acquire

more

they’re arrhythmic

with all the passing

people

grainy applause

found

and then

lost again