in the pink
flesh in a plastic cup. let pink petals fall forever.
the machines tick & click like wayward clocks-
reeks of fear.
here in a flowery robe, i gaze at magazine covers-
the women with full breasts smile in their youth.
others dress casually, assured in their poses
that all the recipes in the pages
will fill up your every desire & win over
lover & guest.
they don’t know who is looking at them.
who envies them enough to want to spit
at the calm fake candles glowing with
glow. images on the machine glow.
i watch the blacks & whites move
as the magic wand
presses against me.
they are like ghosts & phantoms
dancing together. laughing crazily
from too much excitement.
now at home it’s raining. past 2 a.m.
i am tender & obscure.
i wish there were a friend to call.
i wish my family knew me well.
i wish i could feel the hard weight
of a good man linger
in all this tenderness.