she’s a hazel-colored disaster,
orangutan piggy-back pack rat,
elephant-sized ego, shoveling snow w/ sore arms,
fighting the future to the death, every day.
she’s got a territorial instinct - keeps her grounded
on the same high desert plain forever,
her footsteps cast molds in the sidewalks after heavy rains;
she’s a mythical beast, telepathic & predatory,
leopard-like profile & legs like a flightless bird.

her blood is slow & heavy; she
bleeds in wide open sewing circles,
her nuclear tantrums will make craters in the
hearts of men half her age.
she’s never tasted honey, her tongue is a
forked road to nowhere, a venomous tributary
moving faster than sound.
her skin tastes like medicine,
her mornings are legendary,
occupied bathrooms & urgent cellphones.

her doctor is just a friend, she can call anytime,
his helpful handwriting is hieroglyphic gospel.
pharmacists cringe & call in sick to avoid her stare.
she’s already a corpse, cursing ex-lovers in e-mails,
hateful sentiments for the holidays,
predictable passion plays, traditional trash.

she’s starved for attention, barren & difficult.
she can darken any day with those torrential moods,
her problems are persistent, trustworthy & critical,
she’s got the lingo to make herself smile.
she speaks in mother goose rhythmical patterns,
daring boys everywhere to murder themselves.

her chemical lies are obvious, her love is like labor,
tiring & cyclical, boring & bountiful, local & talked about,
her parents don’t care. she’s a demolition queen,
placing bombs under bridges.

she’s a social mosquito. she’s holding fake papers,
the cops on the north side remember her still.
she solicits feverish hatred & gets it,
she gets it, from hipsters through laconic suggestions
of suicide & sexually theoretical things,
over roller coaster rides, w/ hazardous designs,
& wishes for oblivion, safety,
& a framed obituary.