Serendipitous find of leather
on a day that had no verve.
I become fashion.
I am worn by the lost crowd
moving with their backs together
from day to lustrous day
counting the costs of mutual identity
behind their eyes.
I like the scent of my old leather journals,
of my own eye thoughts.
Purple is in a ghastly mood and I am tired of putting up with her crap.
She calls me crazy,
refuses to be seen with me when I step out my door in my tiara.
My eyes are diamonds and my lips are freaks, I tell her.
You will have to live with my fashions.
Purple peels right off my dress and down the road,
And suddenly I am a museum of skin
beneath the glass of a transparent dress.
Blue leaves his porch and says,
You need someone who will treat you right.