THE MAD GIRL, NOW WITH TIME FREE,
LISTS WHAT SHE SHOULD DO, NEEDS

trypQ1han,
bioflavinoids
one to sleep 
so she won't
lie listening
to the phone
that doesn't
ring, one to
get rid of
where bruises
rose where he
touched her.
Even just his
voice on the
air makes dark
roses bloom 
past her elbow.
She needs 
something,
vinegar to
douche his
lips from
nightmares 

THE MAD GIRL IS NOT
AS UNHOOKED AS SHE SEEMS

gets his "your
note, it made my
day, be in touch"
message on her
machine, feels
as if something
put a string of
lights under her
skin. She plays
it 4 times, does
n't know why his
drawl, half Boston,
a little south, 
some Indiana pulls
her so she's ice
on the Cohuahuilla 
Desert at noon, no
thing on her as it
was since she
swallowed whatever
he had 

THE MAD GIRL FEELS
LIKE THAT DOLPHIN

slithering up the Hudson
wrong way, trapped.
Something in her leans
against flaking wharves
she can't escape hurling
toward. The grease of
night coats her lips, 
her fingers are driftwood.
What's gone, a charm
like the shadows, the
lightning and trains in
that Joshua Tree Motel
where not even his smell
stays, is on her as she
plunges past bleached
docks, driving smack in
to dead ends

THE MAD GIRL WOULD JUST AS SOON HAVE
RERUNS OF NIGHTS HIS FACE WAS
ALL BLOW UPS

nights wild as mustard
leaving that much of
a stain nothing
takes out without
taking what's
been stained with it.
Tangy, yes but the
ambience was more
like chlorine she
said after you pulled
away though she
reeled you back, as if
it was in, where you
were best she'll
remember it better
before of course 
the final dissolve