janie grows strawberries on her back porch

i grow poppies

i make new lives like paper towels,

wringing out these dishwater lies you left on the counter.

he puts his hands on my cheeks

turns this head back round

i see your snake eyes;

bad luck bad luck.

but i saw a photograph i never knew i took

self portraiture constellation:

my head in lion jaws.

so so safe, i know

these arms so strong now

keep your rooftop up.

i’m getting bright with a crown of fluorescents

we’ve got to know to keep on waking.