Eye have in my possession
the implement of destruction:
the blue and white iron
belonging to My First Husband
wielded by His Former Live-in Girlfriend
a dancer
to whack Him on His Hip
while hot
to leave a permanent scar
of polka dots
and The Man’s Story
of “Bad PMS”
Eye can have My Church
here, hear upon The Beach
I can walk, wake with The Birds
in the social structure of solitude
in the company of Life
Eye can shine with The New Sun
Eye asked my husband
if I was a creative
genius — he said “No.”
My Paintings are loose
dripping like punctured abcess
colours even fall
The Human Mind can
and does believe anything:
Believe what you want
I never did like
the way he wangled his dick
along the stair case
Eye Claim
Responsibility
for 9/11
and Quite a Responsibility
It Is:
I have not sung a song
in honour of
Destruction-ism
(My New Art Form)
I have hung
M(eye) First Husband’s Love Letter
upon M(eye) Refrigerator
Sky of Cloud only
first blush turns Florescent Pink
unexpectantly
My sculpture melted —
Dance Demonstration Request:
He told Me “Curtsy”
If I had a man
I could have a Barbeque
If I had a man
I could have an extra shelf
in my linen closet
I could have the baseboard
replaced
in my Ex’s old library
and if I had a man
I would have a pickup truck
