anna kiss

 

 

 

 

Hil

 

I remember you dressed in mescaline,

your smile hung crooked between two full-moon eyes,

your skin dripping off your body,

caught at the bend in the bone,

the cheek jutting out from sunken lids,

your jaw hung low and long,

echoing absurd sobs in slow motion

 

I remember you in brown slacks, black jacket

your sadness preceded you

the reputation of the Plath-like ghost of oneself,

forever stuck in melancholy.

Everyone knew the names of all your diseases,

but not one person in all the American Medical Association

could define for you,

or attempt a description for us,

each outsider,

that which ate you and why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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