Appetite for Cold Silk

I'm a prize to be disguised; so wise I married a man

filled with cobwebs (bats in my bell) free - with or

without - time is a bitch of a lover, like gravity,

the truth of my tits loosing their stealth - He, in my

spider webs, has a great disaster to get to - and I fall

asleep with a rock hard Virginia Slim between my

fingers (I still hunger for cold silk) the cold calm of it all,

between my teeth; wrap my legs around time - kneecaps,

and thighs - time (silent as ever) never asks why I try so

hard to please. Just another tease with slanted eyes, flies to

buzz across my future like fuzz on the furniture. Leave me

alone for a minute, I just want to sleep (uncurl on the tip of

the moon) croon like a wayward bird (full of noise.) And

when the Mad Hatter knocks on my backdoor with his ticking

alarm clock and Coke Rings around his nostrils I don't panic;

just another romantic (defying) the otherwise slow system

to act on the judgment of others - judge, jury, and executioner

with the pedicure (red) to match her car - that car that I drove

in my youth before my husband put sunglasses on me, saddle

bag (browned) me. If I believe what my mother told me when

I was a child then at birth I had already been born - too many

centuries for my mind to wrap a hold of - too many poems,

maybe. Just a recycled writer with a shelf life of book spines

and spider webs. The Great Disaster is coming; he says, neon

pink hair in his eyes, black on his lips and he kisses me but I

have no idea (furrow) and split like a block of wood; we share

saliva like a trail of bread crumbs. Mums the word behind the

windows - don't shout or the neighbors will hear, don't cry so

loud for loneliness, it's pointless, jointless like this body without

bones. To think that such breakable structures form us; I could

break ninety percent of the bones in his body with just my hands

and to think, I'm afraid to say so.