I have been promised the resurrection of dead poets
I have held hearts like
hard candies, savaging the cracks
lapping the gunmetal sweat of insecurity
with every well-placed "I love you"
I've danced Helen of Troy into the crawlspace,
desperate supplication that a man is a man
is a woman is an answer
has some meaning
Sanctimonious suicide
using stranger's bodies, the
tender places:
I am righteous
I am pure
There was a little girl
who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good
she was very very good
And when she was bad
she was horrid
Apples make me sassy and I have a nasty habit of falling in love with dead poets. Jules Verne can go to hell. If the Nautilus were a real narwhal I would live in it, like Jonah or Dr. Dolittle in the Great Glass Sea Snail. We would travel the world having grand adventures. I drink an obscene amount of herbal tea. I have been known to do ballet in my living room when nobody is watching. I have three rats named Sailor Baby, December, and Alice B. Toklas, a dog named Vincent Regardless, and a cat named Elliot. We like to sit around not eating each other.
