No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
as they can possibly be

And they are moved
by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
in the back of the taxi home

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

There once was a girl
Who gave herself a name
Different to her own
And dyed her brown hair
Blonde
And said it was her natural colour.

She lived in a flat
Far away from home
And though she paid the rent
On the first day
Of every month
She never felt it was her own.

There was a forest
Near the home that wasn't hers
Sprawled across a valley
Though she never said it
And rarely thought it
She longed to get lost in it someday.

But she didn't
She got lost in nine to five
She was a waitress
Earned the most from tips
From men who liked her attitude
And her long blonde hair.

Lovers were sparse
But never unpleasant
And she thought about revealing
Something more
Than the superficial
But always changed her mind in the morning.

And she never had regrets
Even when a yellow cab
With a sleeping driver
Sent her up into the air
And she took one last look
At the unfamiliar sky above her.

And though a few people
From the town she never lived in
Said it was a tragedy
It was maybe for the best
Because her dark roots
Had just begun to show.