Thursday, April 1, 2010


It’s Not Me, It’s Me

gathering my hair in one hand and pressing
I transform into a pre-Raphaelite

I could cut off my hair, my arm,
my family for love, but it will not come

no matter that I learn to make asparagus risotto
no matter that I can read the Kama Sutra

upside down no matter that I am good,
that I am healthy, that I can love almost anything

once I get used to it
and gathering my limbs and squeezing

I can shape-shift into Shalott, Salome,
Scheherazade of a thousand stories

all of them about the same person

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