What else is she ever going to be

but one of the wind’s outgrown costumes

stuck in the swingset’s tangled chains


searching the halls of her huge purgatorial night

like she did in the Good Samaritan Hospital

when they took out her tonsils


shoulders capped now with sleet

knees creased like a supplicant’s

like pants on a hanger


accrual of all of the hover and swoop

no one quite believes in




only very ill children can see her

standing alone in the glare

of her heartbreaking nondescriptness

chocolate smears on the sides of her mouth


one more skinny girl astray from herself





two pocked oranges

one half cup of hot skim milk

gluttonous dinner



Body Mass


imagine running in place

with the door-open

oven on broil

Nikes no good anymore for outside

longjohns the dryer chewed up

bleached out sweats over that

then old boyfriend’s sweater then

catastrophically dirty down coat over that

ski cap and gloves ratty scarf knotted tight

kitchen door shut black and white TV

sound turned low so the neighbors

won’t figure it out

not yet knowing that once in a while

during hell week a frat pledge

dies from this


don’t stop imagining don’t give up

the imagining



aging olympic figure skater

spinning on one single knifepoint in time with

the Casio watch commercial’s trite jingle

perfect stiff smile velvet skirt

stitched back together a little too much


but lifting still in its old immodest wind


she used to be so so good