My shoulders blush,
sunburned,
at the thoughts in my head today.
The hungry, the dirty
The wanting wasteful wielders of modesty,
Who cringe at the slightest hint of
Humbleness.

My body is wrung out and strung up
Drying on a clothing rack in this ungrateful sun
I use rusted clothespins
Scotch tape
Thumbtacks
Trying to let this wind
blow the dust out of my corners.

There is so much dust.

The neighbors watch my clothesline
Hanging heavy under the weight of today
And tomorrow
And next week
Peeking over the collapsing fence  
Wide-eyed at my goose bumps
My un-plucked eyebrows
The sway and buckle of my hips
And thighs.

Then,
Against this wind,
Someone will tack me up
Like a dead butterfly
Pins through the worst parts of me

I cannot run away
From the onion weeds under the full moon
The smell of you on my pillow.

I cannot run away from this skin.

I am a broken-down tow-truck
I am every mistake you made today.

I am so many days without an exorcism.