At night she buries herself six feet below the ground
and she paints her face with a smile every morning.
Her mascara is waterproof and her shaking hands
buried deep inside the pockets of a beautiful coat
while she tells exciting tales of sorbet happiness.
She is a conundrum, weaves lies from silver thread
and hides behind red lipstick smiles over coffee cups.
She whispers false promises to you and herself
between Egyptian cotton sheets, skin illuminated
by the glow of the sun rising behind a high-rise.
This girl is careless but made of glass, and her eyes
catch every word you say, and carry it along, but
her words are not those you preserve in your heart.
She bursts into flames in the middle of an ocean;
she will never be anyone’s to take, or understand.
Woman at diner who knew Fugazi,
I wear all these pins
on my denim jacket
waiting for someone like you
because a t-shirt isn’t
Woman who knew Fugazi,
waitress at diner,
had “seen them twenty times,”
with cracking olive skin
and graying curly black
hair to her shoulders,
the light refracting off my pin
my friend bought at a record store
in Philly reflecting her the image
of a slender, voluptuous youth
donned in fake leather
worn Levis and beat Vans
shaking her mop of jet-black curly hair
in a throng of like-minded dressed
individuals in a dingy club
fleeing the Reagan Youth
mad at Capitalism
mad at Middle Class,
mad at Excess, Abuse, Malaise—
driven by the furious punk rhythms
of sweat-drenched Fugazi.
Woman who knew Fugazi,
friends with Ian MacKaye,
hadn’t seen him in years—
waitress at restaurant
where the scrambled eggs are dry
and the coffee is stale.
Waitress at diner,
I am told what to do, based on who I am.
I should always stay strong,
Keep my pride in mind,
My strength is my power,
I am an elephant.
I should never show fear,
Claws are to hurt,
Never run away,
I am a lion.
I am cunning,
Of course I taunted her,
My thoughts are always in one direction,
I am a wolf.
I can't be weak,
I can't be hurt,
I can't be the prey,
I am a vulture
I shouldn't complain,
I shouldn't cry,
I shouldn't give up,
I am a man.
seperation Of cigarette ashes
wet tar, broken glass.
wine stained wedding dress
Playing paper towel commercial
Soaks up all the rosey in her cheeks
When the thud was heard for miles
She didn't kill herself.
Simply tossed her dress
out the hotel window.
at a crime scene
It was some other asshole
Who covered it with caution tape.