at least I give you transparency.

even when I’m moping,
I’m dancing
in songs of satin,
rippling with sob
and shimmering
deep    bright.
I am combusting
publicly:
a
flood of recourse and 
you are
drowning, immersed
in capillaries bursting with
crisis
and then immediate clarity.
my hands let go of the
flood I’m cradling.

you watch me move
like a snake across your
ceiling draped in shifting
constellations
you have no choice but to
memorize and I’m wearing
the crescent as a crown and
your ears like a gown
and someone else is full
of warnings.    me, I’m a dream
cat stalking rabbits
in the garden, or
waiting for the night
by the river for the
muskrat, and then
later on your doormat
pushing mice
all around.
each night I go to God and ask
for favor.
                 
I hand them back their most
prized possession as the only
way to get it:
a page, one line;
one at a time
wrapped in
flakes of
shrimp like little treats.
my barbarity, I desperately
want to play psychopath
and you told me you were
starving for affection.
I am the coldest
woman you’ve ever
met; catching your

goldfish, frying them up,
using your
own tank like
that.

“dreams”