Supermodelblues

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 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 

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 

except a number I remember. 

It begins with 123.