on. She’ll blind you
with the light. But when the sky
is tar from the moon spilling Dr Pepper
she’s a flicker, no bigger than a burning

wick from a solitary candlestick. She’s
a greasy pig that isn’t fit for bacon. A soda
can that has the top popped off
after it’s shaken. Her extremes have you

beside yourself., upside-down and
inside-out. But you'll beg for her as a
street drunk asking for money to buy
fifty-proof nips. She'll flip the switch on you

then stick as Elmer's glue, like lint
on your sweater. With all that fuzz you can
make a glove to wear in winter. Then the warm
turns to ice as she splinters. And pokes you

in your eyeball with the shards. She's like
a deck of playing cards. Every shuffle turns up
an ace or a dud.