Cento from Brandi Homan 3/9/09 & 3/16/09 (in hospital & out)

Like when a friend of a friend was drunk
for me. A man who smells like

blossoms bleached
purrs with the dyskinesia of atoms. Telepathy
of bleeding fingers. Feet firmly on the ground.

I'm looking for love
with exotic postmarks,

coated with afterglow until I glisten
scarlet. Your pink wig
above us. Someday,

they'll cut off your hands
in a bright red dress.

We all should be so tended
we all turn to pumpkins at midnight.
Sometimes I wear stockings

red as rising heat,
although I promised otherwise.

My grudges, tiny bludgeons
coated in dust -- life beating us
for giving until nothing remains.