contors
a lady of many angles, wrong angles that writhe and wiggle
you are drawn with a jaggy hand jigging across a page
torn too early in childhood
half of you spilled on the table
the other third : demolished dust cloud of eraser sent scattering to the floor.
and this last bit - this contor drawing
of your face snuggled so close to his.
you could be your mother.
a hand of fate you can't will
to stop tracing over her mistakes;
to color yourself in;
to let some blue or red seep out.
these crazed scribbled contors shaped from mantra
these lines of the palm on paper
are all yours - adulteress and adulterer.
you are drawn with a jaggy hand jigging across a page
torn too early in childhood
half of you spilled on the table
the other third : demolished dust cloud of eraser sent scattering to the floor.
and this last bit - this contor drawing
of your face snuggled so close to his.
you could be your mother.
a hand of fate you can't will
to stop tracing over her mistakes;
to color yourself in;
to let some blue or red seep out.
these crazed scribbled contors shaped from mantra
these lines of the palm on paper
are all yours - adulteress and adulterer.
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