The Story:

ragged faded
lady hoarder,
dumpster-diving
diva boarder,
dancin' to the tune
of her Dandelion Wine.

milky-eyed maiden,
peddles paper posies,
masticating carnivore,
toothless, useless whore.
not on her best night!
not anymore!

acclimated alleyways,
rodents without fear,
muddle-minded Faustian ,
soul redeeming martyr -
thirty-seventh year.

The Memories:

broken boned beauty
forged in her mind,
conscientious duty
lost to time.

could have been
a skater,
rockefeller rink,
sooner came later,
locked and loaded link.

pride of Arizona,
class of sixty-one,
a devotee of luna,
loves her remy rum.

many bitter winters,
bitter winter winds,
sliced her like a knife slice,
bled her bone thin.

gave away her gravity,
in East L.A.
weighted down reality
roles she plays.

saddle-strapped sad hag
gone insane,
never gonna' lose
'cause she's never in the game.

always aware where the
light lays low to the ground
livin' in a clap-trap
jingle-jangle town.
runs for the shade
when the sun goes down;
safety in crazy,
crazy shades and shadow
hides her braided hair
and her Royal golden crown.

salts of lithium
took away her name;
doesn't even know now
who the hell to blame.

wants to be codified,
once and for all,
as prophets once prophesied,
another Jackie O,
with her hag-bag shop rags
ready to go.

time is always lazy for a lady goin' crazy;
midnight, brain-drain, middle of the boulevard,
ragged lady bag-hag, screamin' out her rage.

The Lady Speaks:

Hey you!
up there with your pixilated palindromes,
sippin' fresh-dipped sewer juice
and french champagne - you blue-blooded, high-borns,
listen to the tale that I wail at you.

i'm a sack-cloth, busted, shackled crusted scab,
gonococcal wet-brain - slippin' on the ledge
of pain on pain, while livin' on the edge
in the whorin' pourin' rain. God died, I cried,
I'm lookin' for some gain.

leave your flush plush penthouse high-flying life;
see your bleedin' sister, see your bleedin' wife.
that's right, once a wife, mother to your kids.
your kids are gettin' shifty, siftin' on the street;
private school, brittle-veined, maggot-tagged gods,
waitin' for the reaper with the universal odds.

i'm brain-drained, insane, dissipated plain,
a bucket full of truth even Jesus wouldn't claim
so crucify your comfort, your gentrified name,
then bring it to the street, bitch, let me see your shame.