a summary of the past week
(but not really)

this is gingham and plaid, the skirt
she wore when her mouth turned
up into a smile, with her teeth
glowing, mountain worms and lions
growing from every pore; she is green
these days, with legs going on for miles,
with her car driving off tons of cliffs,
cliffs two thousand feet high and full
from too many hungry seas. we imagine
that singers once had lives, too, before
they made it big, and that writers
do not always have words pouring
off every smooth surface of their
apartment buildings. brick walls.
white walls in need of stripping.
white legs in need of shaving.
and then she opened up a window
and let the world know that things
like presidents and beer councils
and becoming a member of other
seemingly important committees
as such are really not quite so diverse
or calm and collected as the public
relators, as it were, would have you
believing. so turn your bedrooms
into sexual kingdoms, with all those
beasts chained to headboards, blind-
folds and all, and don’t allow yourself
to forget that just because it is coming
to be Monday morning, it does not mean
you’re not allowed some fun, as well.
she takes in the world and writes it, too.