Skin

I am not yet

beautiful enough

to write this poem.

My feet are cracked

and rife with

swollen veinsmy hair is short

and brittle

my fingers are stuntedand

my a*s

dimpled.

One.

more.

cigarette.

But I can see

the perfect star

scraped by chance collision

on the mustang

beautifully symmetrical.

What a

shame.

Otherwise, the

carshines.