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Waving Me Away Like A Dime Store Hooker
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Her eyes
represent her thoughts,
waving me away
like a dime store hooker.
Pushing against
the silence
of
temporary distance.
Her simmering
perceptions
swallow me like
a dinosaur from
a 1940's movie.
Plastic, obvious.
My blue skin
is telling
my white nails
to scratch away
the pictures.
Do not absorb them!
We dare not
stop to
ask for directions.
Men do not do this.
Women do, and it is
this direction
you have selected
to promote.
Her skin
is freezing red.
Mingled with
the
dozen or so
hallucinations
she has
trapped
inside of her.
We cannot
be the
same
religion anymore.
You've converted
to your
own cathedral.
