as the silhouette of the night
slides into a buttery sunny day
as the robin migrates in flight
flying south for her tangerine stay

as May muscles into June
and June bounces into July
as morning pushes past noon
without a whisper of goodbye

shedding her old overcoat skin
as a snake hissing in the grass
with a crimson lipstick painted grin
transparent as hand-blown glass

like a loaf of bread
sitting in the pan
baking in the oven
to a golden tan

rising to the top
as the timer stops
a thick, hard crust
a lifted window

a honey gust
breezing through
like a pinto
and soft in the middle

as a pancake on the griddle
coated in a cactus syrup
as the buttered sun
melts into the trees

and the robin chirrups
and the dandelions sneeze
in parachute seeds
as dawn gives birth/another day

that I drink down
in my morning coffee
mixed with billowing clouds
sweetened as toffee

a sheet of paper
wrinkled, into a ball.
I, his latest caper
that they coined a moll.

Crumbles, a stale cookie
baking in the sun.
And I a rookie
holding the head he spun.

Crumbles as his front steps.
As I climb, I fall
into his bulging biceps.
I, his rag doll.

He crumbles, a statue
built out of stone,
with jeremiad words to chew.
I, a ***** of bones.

as lint on his clothes
skid-marks in the toilet bowl
snot on his nose
stones stuck in his sole

as crumbs in his lap
cat fur on the sofa and chair
pieces of scrap
long wisps of brown hair

as grease on the stove-top
stains on the kitchen floor
sauce on the porkchop
and I went back for more

as soot on the grill
in dripping mockery
and he did so at will
I'm just ***** crockery

the girl that thought
his smile, a crescent moon.
Those eyes blue lagoons.
His cheeks rose petals strewn,

and danced to all his tunes. I'm not
the lady waiting for his calls. Biting
my nails as he stalls. Pacing the floor
till I leave ruts, for once I said enough’s

enough. I'm not the woman
up at night weeping in my pillow. My head
heaving in a smoky billow. My body's
plated as an armadillo. I'm the soldier

walking the mine fields, the warrior
refusing to yield. I'm not that girl. I
wield my torch as Lady Liberty, on my
front porch.

lying on the ground in a junkyard
full of metal, broken pieces of
glass and barbed wire shards
smelling like trash and

smoked cigars. Tetani spores at
the tip. Do not trip over him. His kiss,
lockjaw. His touch saws you in
two. He stuck inside my shoe. Poked

a hole right through,
till I bled blue raspberry. My head
spun like I drank the sherry. A tin can
without a label. A dented car door

and a scratched-up two-legged
table. He nailed me, this smiling debris
over crumpets and tea. My only rue,
the day I merged with a rusty scourge.

to dry. I withered
on the line. The crows
they shat on me. The cat
scratched at my fleeces. Dust

blew in my creases. The wind
whipped me like cream. The sun
not once did gleam. I turned
a spotted grey. The sky spit

me with spray. I waved at the moon,
swimming like a loon in the black sea
of the night, in the shadow of the old
streetlight. My buttons popped like

corn. My sleeves and collar
torn. My stitching all unraveled,
like I've travelled to many shore. But I
rotted like an apple core after I fell.