mascara

eyes hurt (eyes hurt!)
why (dirt?) no (squirt?)
no; I played with mascara,
even with sophisticated primer (aka
gunk) to add millimeters
to your eyelid hair before you
slather on blackness;

perturbed me
those disembodied spiderlegs
so maybe I scrubbed my face too zealously
grimacing at mudslides of concealer
anxious to be
re-revealed as me I
hardly avoided
that delicate eye area
until I was satisfied my skin had returned
smiled triumphant but my eyes ran burning
(that salicylic cleanser
really, is just soap.)

a few crocodile tears later:
eyes calm (eyes fine)
by all that rubbing, I may have removed a few lashes
but oh, are you winking at me, mirror?



--

Summer is a-comin' in

So here it is, another summer. A couple of life-changing events later, and Spring dandelions have long since peppered the green below my window.

It has been an interesting, eventful few months. I've had the entire contents of my laptop (all 6 years of it) wiped out - an unfortunate occurence which later seemed wholly insignificant after that very sudden death of a very dear person. I've had the great fun of explaining the digestive system with blue paint, plastic tubes and soda crackers; of making some geometric art and tissue paper flowers and sneaking some sketches in at the museum; of reading Shel Silverstein poems out loud and recieving poems written about me from a bunch of wonderful young people.

My life is spinning into a brand new direction, and it seems that this summer will be the time for significant change. But to me, summer is my time for poetry. I may end up anywhere, but I'll see you at Stylus Virus, friends.