Cindy shall walk in when you are shaking and queasy,
After your fall of Rome
In a blue skirt, she changes out by the torn curtains.
Without a care from the peeping toms
She’s got the eyes of a staring tiger.
And finding yourself in that blood orange recliner
As you kiss the letters away to stray hands
She never wears red, but today
Her dress is for a wet crimson death
She will leave you in prayer in the frosty room
In many hours reading the sadness of Hermann Hesse
She will weave the stream of lies
The waters that drown the appendages of a once muscular tree
And Cindy wears the chains,
The silver pistol earrings
The eclipsing sun can’t hide Rodeo Drive,
When she struts around as a dimestore Bettie Page
She often dreams of her last breath
And she just stares at you like a trapped tiger
Under some mad man’s guidance and brainwashing.
You are the one with the inheritance
The diamonds and bangles, God willing
The dialysis time is coming soon
Where is the nurse, the mystery of men?
That run the house like a tattoo parlor?
Is tonight your last night as the hunted?
Let it be Cindy’s pain, not yours, not the flowers
It’ll be hers in this curse,
I’ve willed her in these Post-Traumatic rebound pastures
