Cruddy smells flake off the house and I know I shouldn’t be here.
No one has in faithless year after faithless year.
Knock it off.
I see you filching my backup plans from my purse.
God I wear blue well.
My soul is transparent like the cleanest lake.
I am without my numbers and shapes,
sewn from cotton fields.
I’m a doll you can love, hate, dissipate.