I know of a small town girl with dreams of
red carpets and theater hits, maybe
shelves out of stock from bottom to top
or halls with framed portraits of the sea—
the crowds drowning, washed away
to worlds that words can not portray

A shame, she grew, this brilliant girl
stuck between youthful dreams,
and the violent whirl
of what to do and where to pluck
the food to fill her empty gut

the adrenaline hisses
like a candle blown
the cheers
the smiles
all fleeting

        and i am endeared no longer

beware the dreamboat
the end is a trainwreck

Perfection exists
in the form of blue eyes
two arm thick waists
and Malibu skies

Perfection exists
in thick sultry words
free of fallacy
too undeterred

What is good?
What is true?
Is it raw?
Is it you?

Away from your screens
Is it fleeting? Does it linger?
(Perfection exists—
not any longer)