The Bag Lady: A Poem
No PC art could rescue her;
this thinness where thick plump belongs.
No PC art could rescue her;
this thinness where thick plump belongs.
In a beauty shop called Perfect Look
your blindness sits upon a couch.
I promised you, I know, I know
I'd wash a gravel pile of clothes
It's half-past two,
sunny as a shiny penny
rubbing pockets of the world.
"The ceremony of innocence is drowned..."
Mother, you are my dream scroll...