i knew a girl once that
fervently walked the plank:
self-constructed outta
gold and plutonium
- but mostly guilt.

she'd look in the mirror
with lust, towards divinity.
and then whip the knife out:
slandering, plunging deep, and
no longer strung out.

it hurts so good
to own it -
to not die but whither
under sky blue skies.
there is ambiguity and there is idiocy..

heavy and light -
i fought for the right
that you might freely choose me:
put away the stencil,
grab the brush and paint

acceptance and change
theres a time, place.
if everything is perfect,
where is meaning?
you must be dead.

so she'll lie and lie
loving, learning, growing, peachy
check, check, check, check, she'll intone
but then she'll write by the thousands,
salty, stomach-descending poems

her guy's nothing special,
but that barely stated implication
makes him the mythologized High School Jordan,
lends him the principle with some heavy juice.
someone will pay that debt.

and she'll look in the mirror,
yearning brown eyes with rls,
but she won't stretch or take her pills:
obligation, self-loathing, or a dancing dick?
she's not here, not there and never will be.