yay poems

i had an appt. at mirror, mirror today for a mini-facial and eyebrow waxing. i didn't know they sit there and pop all your blackheads...ow! it is a good thing i don't have money because i would pamper myself all the time and that's just ridiculous. i'd probably just feel wasteful. but mmm...massages.

i was finally able to write something today and i feel really good about it...

The Heroin Muse

She is an Arabian mare on heroin
on the city streets. She’s all alone
and he draws her in her grime-caked shirt
while she searches for a vein in bone
with her works, half-naked in the dirt
of Chicago. She arrives and melts to a grin
within matted hair and pockmarked skin.

She slides down the wall to her concrete bed
as the young man turns to a clean sheet
in his notepad where he outlines her face
in thin strokes of graphite. She’s craving heat
when she awakes and notices the place
where he left his work beside her head;
she is art because she is addict she is dead.