Slipshod Paradise

Walls and vines of limbs,
The Great Barrier Reef of my grief,
You can’t get in,
Searching soul,
Whatever it was I sought,
It has decomposed,
Sickly sweet, like too much fruit fallen,
From The Neglected Tree,
In an overgrown garden.
This slipshod paradise of thinking twice,
Of doubting Eden,
This ramshackle den of destiny,
Of comparison shopping,
Of Fall colors on the shelf – buy your Jack O’Lantern
on the Fourth of July
This Shangri-la of ha ha ha,
The joke was all on me,
For thinking I could be,
Or would want to be,
Like them.
Twenty-something fuk-bot coeds clad in next to nothing
Preening for their close up
Screaming dysfunction , wanton abandon,
In search of a Ho to save,
A tramp to reform enough to briefly keep
Then disregard later on
When she becomes
Maybe I can’t compete,
With your memory,
Of who I used to be.
Once upon a time,
When I was young,
I wrote a fairy tale for you,
And me,
I don’t know if I can make it pretty anymore,
I can’t be the princess-whore,
I limp,
I trip,
I slip,
My hands are aching,
I just want to drink my lime tequila,
Until I can’t Ophelia anymore.
You can see the beauty in this breaking,
That I’m taking
My last breaths,
In everything I say to you,
Breathe back to me,
The life I gave to to you,
At the root bound tree,
Fed with my blood,
The skin I carved our heart in,
With your hand.
2006, from Β Winsome Vein