if you called her Untitled

five toes
we call me that,
 
whose body is the aspect
and has fluffy ear muffs,
 
but for the green diamonds
glinting in the snow
which melts in the
cup of your hands
and from which we
sip

 

and,
sometimes the end of time
is funny
but other than that we are
scared of the grand mortal tragedy,

 

of creaky little bones.  

***

there is the skin, the eyes
and the aliens on the roof-
tops.

 

the whiskey drinking copper
soaking in an ambulance of
pain,
while outside in the cold,
feral, wind the baby shrieks;
stuffed inside a garbage can
with tattered lettuce and other
like-minded human refuge.

 

that is what is happening by the
amber light of day.
***

convinced of the sterility of the sun,
and the defective moon.
porch creaks beneath the cowboy
boots she borrowed from her father
who is worried about his pension.

 

and if you called her Untitled
she would smirk at you and flip
her flippy skirt.

 

then, it seems, you would fall in
dire, painful, stinking
love.

 

and that my
friend would be the
End