“Manifesto”

She crumbling in places,

too modest to lower her collar.

Not a nun,

named after a dead relative.

Paint-splattered and weeping instead.

In the downstairs bathroom,

she’s Roxanne.

Roxy,

to the bartender,

and Rox to the milkman.

In Disaster,

she’s just another pretty face.

She can’t afford a canvas,

so she uses herself.

Waste not,

want not.

She refuses to turn the light off.

There are goblins downstairs,

and bottles under the bed.

Life’s never like that,

her real name is Mary.

“Here I Go Again”

I’ve been staring at you for so long,

you seem to have lost your legs.

I want you to walk away,

because I’m me and you’re you.

You know yourself too well to end up with someone like me,

who knows nothing.

I don’t know myself.

Or maybe I do.

Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to speak,

when you enter a room.

I torture myself,

it’s just something I do.

Sorry,

I’ve disappointed you.

“Through My Fingers”

Close it.

The door,

the one with the crystal knob.

You shouldn’t watch this part.

Your sister,

mother,

lover,

brushing their teeth with red paste.

A thighbone,

cracked in two:

a jewelry box.

The ballerina who broke her legs,

lying in the bathtub,

her bun undone.

The curtains are yellow,

and your wrists are pink,

pressed against the glass.

Make a wish.