Victoria Tolbert
She She's so cool washed in black Silver sliver of the moon, man Nylon notoriety on the sale rack She's so hip to the pleather diva Sacrificial superficial Naugahyde never was She has this way of clawing up your spine W ith just the right tenderness to make you think You \-vant her there wrapped around your neck I Jer ornam ental orchestration just choking Las palabras right out of you Blue marbles for eyes, she's a blind visionary Tells me she knows all about Sex with deities and prophets She creeps around the garden In the afternoon, lurching Behind the tomato plants She knit a sweater for the president Sits on the sofa waiting to see him wear it She smokes perfumed cigarettes As though the lilacs will save her lungs From the charring She dt;nks licotice liquor Says it clears the brain of cobwebs And inhibitions She shoots up sunshine, freebases mornings Says she has to feel it to see it She's smoked glass, mystetious and fragile lias to say the words to the bed sheets Conjures them to tangle her up, bind her to the night The mouming doves make her cry The futility of their life mating seems A farce to her solitude Blue denim ball gowns lining her closet Never been worn except to tTy the style She's notwhom you might think 50
Ft;Gt;E #23