you make misanthropy seem
facile, like un-tottering
tightrope walking, uninhibited
recitation of your fallible
abc's

but we see you, your
caterpillar nuances, your
high-maintenance pupa, filled with
violet crystalline light
and although you are not due
for yet another January
Your mushroom-padded feet slipper out
of you industrial home
(an entire tight bulbous form slick with
salivation of so many
evictions)
And find their way to our
fridge, a temperamental lighthouse
in this shack shutter kitchen

girl, color your distraught pelo
any shade of auburn, naranja, morada,
o negro
but for he and this
immodestly painted eye
your every thousand follicle
blooms from its pear-skin sepals
your true chrome like millions of
husky-haired lionfaced
violets;
and sing they do, high
all the worries you
thought you sewed up in the willow trees.