i am still wearing the sequin dress
from new years eve somehow
it has not wrinkled. i am still fish scales
& metal. the skin on my legs peels
like a sticker but my palms are as firm
and tight as persimmon skins. i prefer
to be fruit with a pit. berries are too
soft. i cannot afford to turn mush in the heat.
i tell you i might need some Real Help
this time. Real Help is above my pay grade.
this fear spreads like strawberries.
how else do things end up the way they end
up? i look wrapped in aluminum foil.
i tell myself once, it looked sexy.
once your back arched a question
& your pockets were always full
of quarters. there is lipstick beneath
my eyes no i can’t wipe this off, this
face full of kisses. some things do not come off
with soap and water. it is how i know
i have been in one place too long.
there is an art to living
longer than you can afford.
your body flaps like a drying dish
towel pulled tight by thin line. you say
you are grateful, that i am good
at doing what ever it is we are doing.
i have never been good at staying
put. i was made a wheel. or maybe