Darling, you are the world's fresh ornament. Ne'er a bigger bloom could a seeker find Than this that you, dear fool, have on displayment. The displacement of my gentle mind To boudoir regions, gaudy cunning luxury, Has my old self-substantial petrol in short supply. To run this rearing gal, the new polished buxomry Demands a man—the night's auto reply To teenish hungers doesn't cut it. Give me tender pullings of the world one way And another, and I'll give right back. That's the way to increase, to fight the lack.
Unclouded third eye and lush
red wings. I’m pouring water
from cup to cup.
This is the water we are meant
to drink with the other animals.
There are daffodils by the water,
a road leading from the water
to the shining crown of the sun.
My white hospital gown—
off-the-rack and totally sane.
My foot unsteady, though,
heel held aloft, missing its stiletto.
Nine months sober emblazoned
on my flat chest in red
below girlish curls and mannish chin.
You can’t see my eyes.
You’ve never seen them.