on the carousel

I’m a heavy drinker,
and fuck you.

So, I write in hate,
angry to burning

I’m lonely,
you finger your books,

soft music groans,
fills me with resentment,

Canvas on canvas slides,
your shortcomings hidden,

Along a stitched edge,
golden with regret

Cloudy bubbles obscure,
I blink,

My neck stiff,
with hard teeth,

Standing in a gallery
their white walls reflect
like unforgiving mirrors,
above a canvas stained
yellow,
those books a
cold reminder of youth.

I stood in the middle,
piles of paper,
push me down to my thighs
there, my skirt splayed,
a baby’s breath
hushed,
like cotton candy
melting

I descend.

Even sleep has her gods –

Our shadows,
dust from a sweater folded too long,
the sun too
fades,

in a while,
like a curl,
wet from the day’s rain.