sipping in the blue of watered-down
worlds and trying to build it back up in
thicker acrylics—like magenta and jazz:
textured. i weld on stain glass to the
violins (play the strings: red, blue,
yellow, and black) and scrub everything
squeaky clean with my whispers and
kisses like soap suds gliding through
my teeth on to these walls i graffitied
with eye liner and class notes and printer ink.

Just where have you been?

POP. snap my spine back into place.

i've been an architectural neurosurgeon:
beg your pardon, miss. won't happen again.