Biography of Summer Alice
Summer Alice Poems
and getting held at gunpoint
were popular in dream plots then.
One night a giant ruled the land I was living in.
Before the crash took place.
Until then, my daily walking gate had stayed brisk,
The dry shredded skin over my knuckles
The taste rough, brick and red.
It glowed 24 hours, infected everything said
and everything done, but it never reflected how bland
You miss me?
That’s the phrase stacked fat
with methadone and you
The olfactory bits are said to trigger memory the strongest,
And alongside ginger, petroleum and babies
Wafts odorous notes into the holes of my face.
Jacqueline And Her Cat
The animal sits in her lap.
She listens to me
unreprovingly talk about my skin,
its lapses and its memories.
She knows all about my deepest gashes,
the faults, flaws, the inexactness
and the greases
of my surface.