Mutual Identity

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 and Blue

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.

I shimmy.

Blue leaves his porch and says,

You need someone who will treat you right.