I drew his cartridges of loaded hope and daddy’s dancing shoes from his piano too many women n’ ***** bluez that cut of coyote teeth on his mirror in lipstick
A portrait of a saint
A portrait of a ******
A portrait of love and death
A portrait of humanity
I’m alive
I    th e   stra n g e r
I the collapsible paraplegic
I the daughter of the govenor and the daughter wailing sax

His mirror melted into red wax
Of confusion
In this open room bathroom where he is lying behind me invisible through all the lipstick he bought me that is drawn all over his reflection, my reflection, this place, this death sentence, the rest of my life to lead after 16 on my own, I can only hear the image screech I used to be behind me
26 wires into different parts of him to machines that make him breathe
candy colored computer heart pumps and wicked adreneniline bumps and heart breaks and candy necklaces and bad legs and I don’t know this now but in three days after a year of this ******* he’ll be gone
stroke.
Here I go.
Again.
On my own



1/10/2010