Exorcism scheduled for 7 o'clock
where i try to outdance the showgirl spirits that pester me
perhaps i am every woman
that would explain this distilled elixir gurgling about my
inner wine glass. could help tell about that odd gait you develop
only heuristically–by rote, by smacking your skin against the same bone every day
so soon the ground before you knows to hold its breath up to eleven for your step
it does not matter that i am a novice in this convent called adolescence
because i've been given my sacraments to carry in my pant pockets since thirteen now
growing licensed and learned in the way of the almost real world
two years of check-balancing, transporting, body-truck-driving
even if the pocket is shallow. Even so they can't hold too much more than Christ's wafer and a candy. That's what hearts are for. to open mouth and latch and keep in the same way a purse does, somehow
more durable than a leather, though easier to tear. it's difficult to call an emergency safe when the emergency's got a plan b too. but in the end it's all up to your
Choices. they choose for you
whether to zip apart the purse or heart. fortunate that you get to take both when you go away
but leave the organ as a tip for the door
