Literature
Waste of a Dedication(girl)
every morning I tend to
notches between each knot in my spine, painting on bandages,
filling nicks in shoulder blades with cheap putty.
A callous on my lower back
[where glass from bottles
broken on bar stools and
tree stumps whose rings outnumber grains of sand
found its way]
has been left in a history of
the vulgar disbanding of promises.
I can count the shed tears
with scars that decorate me,
white-skinned lashes-
hanging tinsel on the lacerated
Christmas tree, shedding needles in the carpet, as reminders,
"I changed you for a while."
Be gentle, removing things of value,
setting them aside :ge