by a proxy delivered
a days sour face
its painted eye fixed on jacob's ladder
and salvation's cherubs
who seven times sevenfold tell the tale
but the tale is threadbare by the time they have spun the spin
all call each other rookies as they verbally fistfight
over the breadcrumb leavings

charred remains of her melted mind
smoulder weakly in the
interment rain
she would sit in the dirt
sketching beautiful things
known for being pretty for all the eyes that don't see
leaving the brick and mortar life
for everything imagination tells you
is so beautiful
you don't want to change the world
just want your world to change