winch sinched grimmace
hung at half mast
in an attempt to hold rebelious bicusbids in their place
     but they still wiggle like a bobble-head jesus glued to the dash
     every time that you laugh
so i guess that's why you're giving it up

your arms look like a road map
     riddled with pin-***** ***-holes
and with routes to hell and back marked
by distressed vasculatory flares
     so you ask to borrow my sweater
     and another fourty bucks
with no explanation why

for once
     you didn't lie to me

the light reflects
off of those drops of white gold
yet they still speak of sadness
and woes gone untold
they make their way down the map
of her face
her soft hands hint at old money and grace
that died with the wealth
that died with the death of loves' health
a dress made of satin all stained with her sorrow
she's worn it for years, and she'll wear it tomorrow
a ragged hem and her sash sinched so tight
hangs loose on her frame which speaks of no meals, no dinner at night
and stockings torn and
leather boots worn
her dirtied cheeks
red from the cold of the morn
and hair so light that was lighter still
but lost with the innocence of her youth
frown lines mar her lovely face
her eyes are so distant, so cold, fixed on space.
This girl that you see
all withered or worn
this girl that you see
she could be you or be me

How many secrets do we walk past every day?
Sinched off pockets of life,
Their contents affect the cosmos
Like invisible knives.

With just a word or a couple flicks of the finger,
You can reorient the stars
And all the sailors in your tiny sea will start to sail by them...

Ah, but the stars were scattered anyway
And it's good to sail the sea
I never navigated anywhere
'Th no knife turned on my e'e

///

So if only for the thrill
I pull back the skin from my neck
And bear my jugular to the world
Only holding back decisively,
Always wanting to tell you
Everything.