4.06.2011

On Hanoi Jane and Other Traitors

That tail twitching
on the roadkilled squirrel
isn't the wind
or an earthshake--
it's the nerves of fresh death.
Can you smell it
in the headlight dust?
Taste it in the carbon?
It's a heart at half-mast
like a weak-willed rising
late into her night
when the sheep get loud enough
for the drooling wolves to hear.

Go big or go home
or go home with someone big
more than likely
but regardless
put the Jazz Hands away:
The adults are talking.
Alas, the pineapple went to waste.
She was too gone to notice the taste.

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