harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
and my makeup was ruined with tears all across my blood-gushed cheeks, so like the red fruit of my lost summer time.
i felt blood-hot as alba when the sink hit my wrist --
and i saw red in what i washed down: (chased down in rotten sleep when you were sick in my hands) and i tried i escaped i escape you all
ways: in tarmac treads and traffic lights: they flash red and the imagined -- no: dreamt the morning after -- screech of car brakes; patio chalk drawings from a child's dusty fist; but just a vomit kiss
instead.
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