Firstly, fashion flits over my face like flickering fire.
Then comes the 6 pound, 12.5 oz scream.
Then the blackness of hungry water.
Down deep below diamonds where water is a dream state
Like Florida glittered with snow,
My smile stretches to accommodate the black pressure
Of shadows squeezed to a paste.
Friendly, the robot makes conversation with me
While he robs me of my fingers.
If the scream should rush back into me, I would die.
My language slips across the grass
In only a slip,
Her nakedness plain to all the angels.
At my vanity,
Choosing a face to wear,
I remember that time on the backporch
When you showed me you loved me.
Miniature Moon 