Dancing with the dolls, their bent cardboard feet
Painted on red Mary Janes, dirty socks
and their peeling faces worn at the lips.
His pen sustains these, the filthy mind
Brings the broken promises to light
In a tome written by a classic heart
Shattered by lost hope, disease lurking
With jagged fingers clinging
To a suicide note written on news clippings
About 9/11, to a bottle of pills
Swallowed religiously to fight off demon lovers
Who haunt his past mercilessly.
I remain intrigued by the music.
Her jaded swaying repels me back to my cocoon,
While his fatal breath warms my neck.
Cautiously, I step forward
and open my legs to dance one more time.
Crumpled Paper Dolls: A New Orleans Poet is quite possibly the best thing to happen to poetry since Ariel. Not since Sylvia Plath or Anne Sexton has a poet reached in and ripped out one's insides so lovingly. Do not go another day without this book in your collection.