OSC+MIC

at least she will be pretty
when she forgets her name
and her backbone dilutes
with the response to a crumbling
sense of wonder and the
sardonic sense of time that
will come when the truth shines-
this world is not divine, as
every perfect curve of your
sweet angel face, golden hair
the bright spots that are left

this world is a black, cratered moon
disguised as a blue planet so that
we can love it just enough to
get out of bed every morning with some
earnest ambition and love over the corn fields
and the dismal skylines and the traffic
and regard some semblance of faith and purity

at least you will be pretty so things
will come easier to you just keep
that fountain of youth spilling over
protect your shell as the insides begin to
turn over and bury themselves because
your two strong legs will carry you further
than you needed, with your withering heart
still bloody and red and beautiful.