For Marilyn

The funny things the brain does. If I were a man maybe he'd respond. Or if I were gallons of brown oozing booze, blooming out of pores and stinking up my space. I'm red with misery. No one wants a blithering idiot with blond curls, dyed regularly and mostly to attract middle aged men. I've got no problem with man on man as long as I'm getting a cut of the deal. He kissed my mother and she cried. Told him to move his hips some and be a bit rougher with her little girl. When he sleeps in the car he's a pinwheel with appendages moving out like sparklers. Perhaps this is an invitation for someone somewhere. Time is folding in on itself like fourth of July duds. Country music and Texas rap. This is tragic. Slightly amusing. It all feels familiar and incestuous. This is almost tolerable.