top of page
Candy
A hanging cocktail drips to swell
The backs of feeble hands
Smoothing out those pesky veins
Fluorescents flicker in and out
The menthol stench of chrysanthemums
Chokes the air of this white box in which I lay
A dull ache in my torso
Slouches toward Columbus to be born;
To think it were a baby, how silly
Still, I’ll birth it soon
They said they’d fetch a pen and paper
For me to write a will
One sweet nurse asking “Hey, aren’t you Warhol’s girl?”
To which I muster all the strength
To bat my lashes and part my lips
And mutter “Once, in another world.”
bottom of page