so around the outskirts
of town,
shoulder off my overshirt,
let it drag the ground, let it
catch up what earth it can-
the earth always caught me.

with a solid all-over smack.

little me, to tip-toe
across the balance beam,
toe and heel and toe and heel.
I never quite match up my mind
to my face.

one day, I remember waking up
and thinking I was lovely,
and then I did not.
basket weave short-comings,
fold myself to fit inside.
the light filters through
in choppy segments.

somewhere a radio plays
'closing time',
and I remember my sister getting
high, I remember
my mother being dead
and wearing an ugly purple suit.

the clock gives off a consistent buzz
and blink blink blink,

because thursday requires
me, apparently.