"Slouchy jeans

Tugging at my hips as they slip

And I trip in

My beaded sandals

Cursing because I should be walking


So I don't track dirt through your door

Not that you'd care,

Not that you'd see

Once, I was Helen in your eyes

Now I am just a shadow,

Bangs trailing over a stricken face

(stronger, but grieving)

Breathing in tobacco like a teenage pothead

The smoke caressing my flesh


Your tainted touch;

Fading and


As the sun come up.

'Isn't this what you wanted?'"

8/27/2005 4:55pm