roadkill
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and i can see Betelgeuse in the oil of your orbit Simon says to twist- contort; knots in throat i'd like to file a police report; don't hang up sneakers on the power linesasphalt in your arteries
headlights in stark spaces where the bones curled in the stasis of the veins, vermilion capillaries;bloodstains like velvet Januaries:crackle out like lightning- thundering like bursting hearts;
When a man gives his opinion, he’s a man
When a woman givers her opinion, she’s a bitch.
It’s hard out here for a bitch
In a place where for every man’s dollar women make 78 cents
Poor little bunny,
you ran out in front.
Fast as the blowing wind,
the only thing on your mind was getting across.
it trembles, a
crooked form caught
in a black sea,
its surface
stagnant now – the
still waters rumble
with the passing of cars and
unmoving eyes, casting deep
shadows over its
small
