Prowl
2004-05-17 - 10:45 p.m.
Thin women have
dead eyes
on the covers of magazines
in the pages where their bodies
are stretched lean and malicious
breasts ready to drop like bombs
toes spread apart with nails filed
like talons,
and cold skin like imperial jade
hard, impenetrable.
they prowl the jungles where they are
precious and when they tire of grass and savanah,
come to haunt
us in big cities--slinking through the cement
and prowling between the shadows in small towns
searching for the vulnerable among us
where one torso, one collarbone, two lips
will cause a gun
to fire--one tiny bullet will richochet
from Los Angeles, Portland, Vacouver to
Miami, New York, Greenwich--
Slowly we drop like golden flies into silver jars
wiggling our tiny legs in the air--
staring down the barrel of an abbreviated lifespan,
Always alert for the rustle in the trees.
yesterday - tomorrow