Tempted by the grapevines,
and the juices they offer,
I slap myself into piece and remember the order:
THE ORDER OF ESTEEM
to do what is written in my quiery--
NO LEAKING LIKE THE VINES!
No seeping into mud;
no STOPPING and dropping.

So you're just a girl

So you're just a girl who needs some
extra boost and shake to think,
"Man, this is how I want to feel
and I'll damn-well-please feel this way."
(Just saying.)
Muttering things to yourself on
blank-paged moleskins priced for
nearly half of what it's worth--
though, in the end, if it's worth
your dignity sparing and
ballooning integrity (full cup,
brimming with it), I guess it's worth
the buy.

"Damn-well-please,"
you'll feel how you want,
no longer streaking your shirts
for a spark of acknowledgment;
nor leaving your bra strap 'twined
irrelevantly round your pinky.

Heavens to goodness,
it's all in the interior folds,
(not exterior molds, fungal facials
and other unnecessary productions).

To this girl I know,

You inspire me; really.
(not minding the wear and tear),
You Go For It
and speak with a set head.
Though you've weaved,
'round my wrist,
a tie-dye reminder that
"Yes. It will be all right."
That,
"Yes. Things will be okay
if you Try."
You're over the past
like the knot that you tied
(the bunched ending of the lead sequence
of the trip--when there's too much
tryptophan),
I believe in the transcription;
and I can only hope to
transcribe what you've demonstrated
so professionally mature.
(I'm following you this time.)

Forgive me, Lord.
For I am so weak.
I resigned to myself,
and acquitted from my goals.
I feel so weak,
I can't bear to look at myself
straight in the mirror--
for that is the sorry price
I've paid for my
crimes.
The mirror taunts me,
The mirror also gloats.
She stares at me, through that mirror,
her belly button winking at me like her eyes
and they chide me for being so
vulnerable to myself.
I've lost,
to my ignorance,
and lost,
to my illusory, feigned, materialistic sham of happiness--
a sham that can only span for...
(what? three hours?)
Until it's done again.
And now my belly just flops
-relentlessly cascading-
deviously overflowing with greed
at the edges of my pants,
and seethes of revenge
because
"I have NOT treated it
like the temple it feels it is."
(Corinthians spews
of the laws I should have abided by;
I should have sworn my oath at the time.)
Why did I lose You,
amidst all this?