I’ve delighted in those bellyache compulsions,
Sinful and engorged.
The great disobedient,
Pirouette in empty hall,
Collapsing.
I’m a birthdaycake disaster, all filthy polkadots amongst circus clouds.

I’ve been cat-caught and tongueless before her.
I’ve cakewalked through free given graces,
And at times Ive emerged atrophied and threadbare;
Declarations of intent fall short to little arsonist.
This vile and burdensome decomposition must nourish new growth.
Blooming better devils.
I must be a one horned half witch forever,
But may morning-glories emerge, as my mother asked.