Attitude

3 01 2009

I’d like to be long,
languid, low.
Like Janis Joplin,
croakin’ my soul.
My ugly-pretty face
its eyes sad like coals.

Or some faded flinty bitch,
who doesn’t give a shit
what you or anyone else thinks.

A broken woman,
broken patched up woman,
with bones stronger cause they’ve healed.

Who runs headlong into life
profanity like a bullet
behind her tongue
a curse for ties that bind,
blind.


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