the eyes are not the mirror
of the soul look
into my interminable
mouth if you want to learn
something about dirt
I was smug as a puddle
having learnt all the elements
& how to fly a kite
& why would I
have put back on my hazardous
blue dress when I could
be as cold as a fisherman
awkward as an ankle
when I could show off my
glamorous toes & kneecaps
not me I’ll spit out
the disgrace & drink it
back fuck it’s hard being
nice all the time but it is
good to fly a kite
it is good to lie down
where the ground has come
through & feel it
closely to become so
many flowers felt
down the spine whisper
to the men on either side
of me until they
believe if my name
were not a noun it would be
a beautiful verb
