she wanted to taste gunpowder like
a bitter breakfast. but the gun-supply
was limited and she was too young for the
permit so that sedan was more convenient
it was white like she thought her eyes would be:
all white before they decorated them with pennies
like deadly wrapping paper.
she wanted all the anonomous letters torn up
she wanted all that paper burned
she wanted a decleration of purpose:
like a sylvia plath book, like a horror-drama
where everything goes dark.
she wanted to eat exhaust like it was breakfast.
she wanted the bad joke to end the way we all have
at some point have you ever wanted the bad joke
to end i remember wanting the bad joke
to end, it was bad, it was so rough...
she wanted a finality to days
that lapped like waves.
she wanted to take an elevator to the basement of the ocean.
and she sat down
like death was a bad PEOPLE magazine you
read on a nervous flight directly to the bottom
of the atlantic.
i told her: she's a smart girl
if she wanted to do it shewould have just done it.
I hope to every fuckn star in the night
i am right.