messy little blue Romanian hair
on lazy little girl head,
eyes bloody and unsteady --
she's baked as a blackberry cobbler.
My fingers like the hairs of a toothbrush
mixing the top of her head like
spreading dough through flour.
Like I was glad, somehow proud of the dream I had
that she was somehow another person, some
long lost friend.
As though I could forgive you for being yourself.
Yes, like a toothbrush
peeling my way through your big toothy grin
stroking against your big dumb clumsy dog of a heart.
The very last thing I have to love,
and to waste.