This chick calls herself an artist, but
that's just because they took away her pole.
I'd give him what she does, if he'd let me,
but they say you can't call yourself someone's wife
unless he agrees.
So I find myself, a distressing accidental,
my face one of those party ribbons gone limp
hovering over the bottomless pit
a gawky, raven-haired, pale blue woman
words trapped in the tangle of affection
one thin slip of gossamer between myself and dissolving.
True to myself, I never once confronted him
things work out, I told myself
everyone gets repaid, one way or the other
Me? Back to zero, after all I'd managed
Still, I know, in the wish of getting wrong right
I might still forgive him
everything