“In my lifetime, I’m still not right.”
the Indigo Girls
Frail as an, azure manicure…He simply said to me,
“that is what we have left for you.
In such a youthful state…your only tranquility will be a savored, small room set in the mind.”
I could scarcely understand such a, scarred, singed, sage.
No matter the matrimony.
No matter the saint.
No longer…young at middle age.
His terse, flawed quotes…were far from quaint.
Until a debris of wants.
My hoarders bin filled the tapestry in the sacred room.
Cluttering my soul!
A bee swarm!
Being flawed and broken, I held the four walls up to my looking glass.
Plastic abrasions filled my whole.
Among the lonely space…
dreams of nylon insurrection paid for with youthful…tainted cash.