I don't want to play dress-up
in my beautiful skin & now behind
powdered teeth
I am wailing for happiness
see, already under a shroud
so why bisect with a tie
Or stomp out the sun with the false curl of a hat
why the heels, toes cut out
not waiting, wailing
Nothing done with a smile nor easily
nude practicality & little wisps of Whitman
collapsing alveoli, alluvial grapes, still on vines
Strangle around a skirt I will not entertain
will not entertain its baroque desire to drool
to widen here, elongate there, draw their upon-me eyes
Kneeward & beyond to where. Part of me
Wants
replanting each grape
refilling the grave
To impress you
though that share is small
the more substantial stock
Only wants to raise myself.
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