Dorothy
I was the girl wearing glasses
filing my tongue on the edge of your words,
your sum of experiments
My Algonquin Round Table
a circle of deep drinking, harsh smoking,
shove it all into our skins
echos, lies, acid trips,
the naked want of us,
red blood true
shouting your line
poets alone should kiss and tell
I banged your bangs before
hairlines were hip again
alas my height deceived no one
my spine not as sharp as yours
The men I broke, they broke me
though we big girls don’t cry
we all have stories
Your line,
he must be handsome, ruthless, and stupid
is not my mantra – but my bad habit
At my mother’s wake my tears were real
I read your Epitaph for a Darling Lady
left for her a red young rose
found comfort in your knowing
that her dust was very pretty
as surely so was yours
Writing 