Shapeless red sack dress and river into which my colours ran
last time I ever saw my grandfather take a cigarette and miss those
collectible cards my whole family cried
save me and Dad who rolled eyes and I who had just learned
criteria for a proper Gothic Architecture marvelled at the pointed arches
while the pulpit made culpable the lying dress.
Presupposing a deus ex machina I continue to run
until the whole body of water is pinkish neither I nor the dress
have the power to turn it wholly red I really should be taking my iron supplements –
having learned just last year I should drink before I’m thirsty
somebody tell me why I should trust the Please Miss! hands my body raises
Cassandra’s twin sister in opposites it’s too late and we never knew.
Here it is possible to divine the waiting the waxing the origins of
a tabula rasa candle dangled like a carrot only dripping I am ready for it
to run over to be smoothed like Roman notepaper
a bleached dress in a river running clear again
told to take these ones two days before the bleeding
where I am sat marvelled at same-new-ancient pointed arches like collecting cards.
