a nebula of star dust.
the glitter of broken glass & cigarette butts
she is a swaying pendulum
each oscillation a genuflect
to a white horse drawing a train wreck closer.
back and forth
from car windows to inconspicuous gangways
the needle leaves a scar
a port-a-pottie confessional
a intersession prayer to St. Jude
the shit and blood pisses off the angels.
the pricks and plunger
shards of Challenger windshield glass
she exposes her circulatory system to disaster
wreaks of victim and crime scene.
the steps leading to the side bar
her dingy brunette locs
open purse & vulgar pursuits.
at the gates of hell fire
she is an exorcism waiting to happen
either by casket or behavior modification.
her story full of endings
at the beginning of life
chasing the dragon & hunting for more sky
you can’t climb higher
only closer to your catastrophe
simpleton, runaway, fool.
you can’t hide inside yourself
everywhere you look
you are already there.
this close to the concrete forest
the sharks smell blood
before it dries on the needle tip
are waiting for skyward eyes
for they never see the weapon
till the wound is wide open,
honor is obliterated,
and the last few singles
have been excavated from the remains.