“I prefer wine,” she said
And then it was so.
Amazon still has not confirmed shipment
Of the bomb
There are only vampires in her window
On the nights that she has denied her rights
To what’s swelling inside.
Pregnant with tomorrow and due yesterday
This thing has to move
The calendar marches on with each indelible X
Deliver what has grown too big to hold inside
or step into the ring to meet a merciless God
There is no such thing as a fair fight.
Mail-order appliances exploded human lives in Boston
And disappeared metatarsals of a dancer
Staying has a history of being nowhere at best
Take the escalator down to
Departures.
But take heart:
The Santa Ana winds bless the San Andreas fault as they fuel the wildfires above.
Everybody gets the next part a little wrong.
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