I was at an all-time low
but it was the height of my space doll addiction.
I had to impress you
with tri-colored flowers and cat eyes
grinding poison light into bloody snoopy snow cones.
There was no such thing as psychology
in the web of love. I already felt dead and pink
already missed sleep. I already knew
no one would be moved by me.

Heat makes me vomit but I wade the creek
for a leech for a lead for a dead baby reason.
Moss grows in the shape of an X. I take the path down
to the meat market behind the picnic shelter
sigh at the fast calendar
but you can’t say I didn’t first try romance
rooting through drawers of fluid-stained slips.

We never had real diamonds in the armoire.
We fed the plants ice.
It was a typical prank that one time we made it to the beach
I went to bed when you got up
and that one time in the sand I thought someone listened to me
seven hours in your vampire dream
and then I woke on a raft hair breaking off from the chlorine.

There’s always some leaking
and your emulation is why I eat days
but if I could ditch my shortcomings and roll behind you in the dark
thievery would be the price I paid
in a leopard-fur bikini and fake braids
I wouldn’t be myself
but I would be fox-faced.