Let me slip into my
Queen.  

Appetite,
Slumber,
Sloughs off of her
as easily as water.

She passes through, to
The other side of Fear
In her penetrability
She has no Peer

Shapeless threats of the night
Merely dampenings of light

Let me slip on my frigid
Queen.

Mortal fears free of her lease
Reign wild, at the very least

But before my Queen
They quiver, shrivel,
Into a sheen
Of ice, from sniffling drivel.

Her countenance a light deadpan,
Her governance, her birthright, tends
A sooty silence,
A dumb penance,
Mum.

Look, here I am
Reclined, legs akimbo,
Outwardly bulging to lordosis.
A pint of blueberries on my hips, form
A **** train through my lips

I had been honored by the Hoarding Board:
Primly donuts, princely Kinder,
Father Belvita, priggish pretzels.

They were folded
With teeth, into acid.
They're all memorialized, in thrall
Wrappers nested within wrappers

Yes. Here I am
Churning away
My heart pulsing lust
My fingers settling dust.

Your concerns in front of the mirrors
Of dressing rooms, of fitness-gymnasiums
Petty.

I'm above all that,
I ate all of that.
Pretty.

mumbles, jumbles, into the night
my baby phoenix stumbles into its plight
a better life was merely imagined
but my dove, my dear, bitterly determined

huddled witnesses
there! in the square
a drove of fireflies, watching
her rebirth in fire, laid bare.

her tuckered tail, dead-centered --
shaking off crimson pearls of lunar lunacy,
henceforth, bleeding on her own time, her own tenancy.

her talons look at us.
we look at fiery lips that lash and scorch her.
never more before his penetrating gaze,
as her wings form a column of blaze.

she soars, she screams:
but to nothing but scorn --
the square-goers think she is just forlorn.  

my dove, my dear, for your ****** death --
I pray it greets not a dragon's breath.

A hallelujah for
classes with masks
I'm basking in
masked yawns,
masked frowns,
half-opened lips
dreaming of soda sips.

sitting here, with
elbows resting on each knee
chin resting on cupped palms
skull resting on clenched teeth
gaze restless on the page.

sitting here, without
interest, intent, or intensity

restive yet frozen
taking classes by the dozen.

My footfalls, they
Were the could-care-less slaps
Of a housewife’s plastic slippers
Upon her unyielding hardwood floors
When she unwillingly gets up from the sofa
To open the door
For her ugly husband.

The masked runner’s breath
Is already circumcised fivefold.
But he will never get over the humiliation
Of wearing right on his mouth
A diaper
Of saliva, stale air, and swears.