i burn like a rayon nightdress flung on a fan
hissing hot air from its element into the cool evening room
blown in bits and dust i agitate the cool night breeze
someone says 'turn that thing down, it's dangerous.'

down. someone said once i ought to pierce
my lips and pout like a criminal dribbling sweet dribble
in the dark. oh to be free! to drum
my fingers on the surface of this life and feel it coming
beautifully loose.

stars came out and i toppled into the closet
wearing stilettos that clank like a ball on a chain
brass buckles they have, and someday when they find me
they'll bite it to test, and they'll say 'hey,
this girl's not a real relic!'

at which i will laugh and say 'why did you care anyway?'