This is one of many
numbers that haunt me.
The number by which god calls me.
My imbroglios inflame your imagination; hence
original despite the serial number
I vacuum in my underwear
and pretend the artworks tilted
odd angles by earthquakes
decided long ago
mean something to me.
I forget things easily. Sorry
if I forgive myself
for ghosting you last week
but you still asked me here to pose
with desertification and empty oceans
war plutocracy rape fantasy success
and my lips are like Yeah
I am your goddess and I will give you
some of what you need.
Just don't stare longer than I silently ask.
From one stage set to the next
my mind moves so fast
there is no reason to remember anything you ever said
because this life is my garden
and each day is lovelier than tomorrow.
This is my portfolio. Did I tell you I like Carraba's?
Life rolls like the controversial code words
of end-stage principalities
in which I serve as subject of my own backdrop
in a townhouse by the airport
all combined to form the reality in which I fling
in a look made for fun
and verse as useless as it is unique like
an individual butterfly or the dress a boutique
made for me especially but more so
unable to contain when the MVP
crosses like a black cat, my body.
This is why my smile is as it is. Do you like it?
My life does not depend on the answer
My life does not depend on the answer
but I wonder nonetheless.
---------------------------------------------
Sometimes everything reminds me of something else
like every day of what I want to be
but because my life is my garden
there is no reason to settle
on a single day of the collection.
A businesswoman of Monaco, 1953.
Cleopatra no doubt. Christ on the stake.
A lime-green Lamborghini
driving through sky-high slices
of coconut cake.
Through nights a zebra mask defines me as I peek at magazines
eating fast food at the end of the all-night pharmacy.
The hardest moons gave me this
and I can't complain about the way time has warped me.
Even the predator hiss-- is that not the way of Eve
my friend my idol my love?
It is no mistake I carry her apples as breasts.
And her face but no memory
And her face but no memory
except a number I remember.
It begins with 123.
