MYAUTOSURF.INFO

I dress myself in the city,
greys and blues
and blankets of white
over rainbow lights;
I wrap myself in a patterned crowd
of passing shapes,
and flakes
melting away on an onyx street.
I settle in the outside seat
of a bus
waiting for its train to fall behind;
tall ones slithering into their places,
pin straight strands tracing the faces and figures
of the slender, stylish.

I’m forced to the window
when an hourglass appears,
my flacid form slapped in sultry perfume
and needled pine.
I try to tell myself that we’re all just shapes,
colors and contours moving like fleshy sieves across the transom of the world,
and that beauty is perhaps applicable to something else-
maybe a face in the window, beneath a gold lamp shower-
a draped pearl necklace of strung bridge lights.