Sisterless
all i have now is a family of 63 hormones
and a batch on things i go back to,
but not so often anymore
because some things need spring-cleaning and others need continuations.
The lawnmower has run over my dress,
but the door is still open.
It's cut up all the ladies and it's causing a big commotion
and i am riding it howling with my hair of a thousand miles
like a comet tail.
The door accepts everything.
it won't close before elephant caravans,
nor naked mothers that are crying
nor airplanes touching infinity.
My star is getting angry
and i'm alone on the planet
and the door is still open.