Ballerina With Fins Poems

She was born,
that little squirt,
unaccustomed to
the concept of being alive,
...

This is a desolate island of
strange mobidities,
where the desert Sun's rays
glitter like spangles in the violet sky.
...

white.
...

Shell-shocked,
moths flurrying through
open mind and open soul
(reluctantly opened arms)
...

Poor chap he was, always obsessed
over one and two and three,
always stressing upon Divine
Proportion and perfect Symmetry.
...

My tears all drip
like sullen dreams
stapling faces to
what they seem;
...

First there was nothing.
then there were lights.

Blinding stagelights leftwing
...

If I were a Garden,
I would be secret, Dark
clover hues over Sandalwood,
cast in tendrils
...

Yesterday, I sat in bed, watching
flames lick the television screen and voices cry out
their horrorstricken moans-
Godforbid, they
...

If you wish to kill me,
you should do it softly.
And then proceed to love me
like silk, like rough hay.
...