I'm actually pretty quiet.
It's just my head keeps coming crashing down through the rest of me like a
Bowling ball down the front staircase;
And if that's not gauche enough,
It's got ma name on it.
It looks like
I won't get that part
In Swan Lake after all--
Never mind all the parts I was handed and spat upon
Cos I got no more manners
Than a pig at the State Fair.
My body has played dirty tricks
All my life,
But the better part of me
Floats like a lantern on a lily pad
Just try getting in if I don't want you there.
The entrance is piled high with bones.
Last night I dreamt
That the hour was late
And I was far from home.
I have my moments, though--
Mostly I flail
As if possessed by cats in a sack
And time is the river;
But in a moment of perfect bliss
When I am,
Egging my neighbor's mail box,
I am Athena with her bolts.
I am Artemis with her arrows.
I am hanging out with God at Danny's Coffee Shop,
And when the cops come in
Asking where have you been?
God vouches for me.
"She's been right here with me, boys," she tells them just as sweet as honey rolling off a warm biscuit,
And I whisper,
Are so cute
When You lie!"
This poem is dedicated to Dulce and to Mama Zen. Danny's? Three-ish?