28 November 2009

p.a.d. --day twenty-seven


Arranging and rearranging the hem of
her red satin dress, she pauses to
look at the camera. I do not expect

a smile or an offering, perhaps a
scream, a silent scream for
melodrama's sake. All angles are

her angles. At any rate, the
ghosts hide in the dark until
she's away. I knew her before

she had to put gold in her hair, when
her curves were round and soft. If
you believe miracles occur then

you've never been strapped to
the bed when she administers the
dose. Degree by degree.

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