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THE MAD GIRL FEELS
SEPARATE FROM WHAT'S AROUND HER
not a
part, is like
her cat, spring-
ing toward moths
on the other
side of the glass
it knocks itself
out trying to
touch. She
dreams of con
tact lenses
that dissolve
like other con
tacts as bar
berry braids
over the door
and trips her
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THE MAD GIRL WANTS
TO JUST SLEEP
takes a little cocaine
then some codeine in
class. She doesn't
like to see things
clearly, holds on to
the edge of the sill
when she steps on
the scale, drives
without glasses,
loves fog and mist.
She doesn't like
full moons or spot
lights, as if they
were a cop's beam
trapping her in
guilt or a doctor
lighting up what
she can only imagine
to find what she'd
rather not know |
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