A simple woman, sitting by the window sill
watching the dust glimmering in the beams of sunlight
that peak through her broken curtains.
she catches them with her tongue.
she forgets to put her undergarments on usually when she wears a dress
and alone she loves to be naked.
A simple woman who wakes up in the morning
and washes her face, examines herself in the mirror
one minute convinced she is beautiful and the next pale and daunted
the water slowly runs down her neck
she is electrical with remorse, fondled by regret
she is enamored by the new day
she wants to lay in her bed forever
she cannot wait to kiss the sun
her mind will make your soul feel -light/cool wind/calm.
her heart .fleshy -copious, and pregnant with deadly bombs
her hands press down like the dictator in his high
her hands press down like the mothers upon a new born
black and white things make their way down
like oil snakes, leaving impressionable trails behind
this mirror that she stares into
behind all the admirable things she has tasted
she examines her mouth
the creature that has pranced upon vicious moments
the one that restrains itself from brutal emotional death
some of her days are a rise above phenomenal planets
she throws her arms in the sky and dances every step she knows soaking wet
enthralled, blistered and covered in the masquerade of her tears
usually she is empty, hallow - engraved with speechless anecdotes of
her most inspiring times,
under the blazed moon
her back glimmers - her skin gives off a light cool
the stare in her eyes, makes every bone in your body
turn to ice, beware of her because sometimes
she is too nice
a simple woman, who will make the black heart turn white
a simple woman who can make ****** fall in love
a simple women who has
died
she walks into the grocery store
people do not stare correctly, or never stare at all
either way she is discontent ----- rarely people stare with proper eyes
and when they do, things go missing
her memory vanishes- her turmoil falls deeper into the grave yard
she is new
she is a simple woman
she sings after she smokes too much, and does not eat enough sometimes
she enjoys making love to books and giving birth to new ones
she melts at the thought of a good poem
and withers away at the sight of others misfortune
eradicated at age 7, combined by ruckus and 80's music
John Lennon, a blonde grandmother. Greetings
and fingers that almost touched
I have a collection of old birthday cards,
and kept the items that I almost died in
shriveled roses and vintage candles
A simple woman, breaking at dawn with the hour
coolly breathing in the midnight disaster
smiling to absolutely nothing in the world