anatomy of a girl

anatomy of a girl

a cross on the shiny metal steeple,
a cross hanging by her lessening heart

yet the cross she breathes for,
that real, warm, pulsing peace,
fades further, into the foggy, dream-deferring distance,
the closer she crawls on unfaithful hands and knees

pathetically

a prayer is always melting on her tongue
like candied fire or bitter snow
but never body temperature
oh, it's never just right

a stone-cold pinkie toe
curls emphatically,
waiting, wanting, freezing.

an ink colored sadness collects like dust bunnies
in the crevices of folded skin

it spills over, staining the fluffy carpet
and silk sheets
and other luxurious things
oh, how useful they are now.

look closer -
the fine wrinkles
drawn by divine mechanical pencil
bag the inner corners of
young eyes - too old for their age
they don't need kohl to be darkened

the four sides of the empty picture frame
hang upon her South-facing wall
oh! the empty picture frame
hangs like wooden blasphemy

I hope you're not too busy to believe me,
but the lost generation - it's always the current one.