turnpike

Through the Looking Glass

she argues against depth
and yet she hopes to disappear
through the looking glass
where she borrowed her personality from alice
a long time ago

the spaces between her fingertips
is where incest hides.

she tries to fill her life with light-bulbs, bowling shoes, ashtrays, and typewriters.

through the windshield
she's a homegrown black hole.

this is her world
which takes a phenomenal form
she calls lack.

she's an absence parents say
a weed-smoking
break-dancing
lyrical scan of childhood.

but the jokes on them
because under oblivious eyes
she could write the saddest poem tonight
on a carpet of ash
and abandon them all
for a pixy-stick in the house of detention.