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Clouds spiral down and curl around to touch me
—not those western drizzle shrouds
baring a soul of misery mizzle
...though I adore a good wallow in sorrow  —no 
these clouds come from yonder bluebird wilds
white cirrus  wispy and whispery  dance around me
I steal one to wear across my shoulders 
like a platinum’s blonde’s faux stole

they come to me like papier-mâché angels —no no
that’s too cliché… and passé   for I’m far beyond
the Godly touch of angels… hmm.. they come to me
like a lover —no too easy …like a heartbreak-er lover!
yah I’ll go with that and get a taboo tattoo of his name

anyway  the clouds  they find me where I stand
dissatisfied with being satisfied
the result of my cool cat face seduction
I wear a crimson bee balm boutonniere 
display it on my plunging V lapel   but
it attracts wasps instead of honey bees; I find
danger brings a secret pleasure to my displeasure

my leopard print pants (red sky colored)
stirs sir knight with his bridled gaze and walking stick
he watches my next move on the chessboard
tries to guess my breezy strategy
my hands behind my head  legs crossed
maybe it’s a white crested ocean I'm floating on
  —or wrestling with—  either way
I’m here to play and paint a displeased scene

watercolors? they’re just transparent hues
applied to my white background
depending on the mood of my mood ring —but
when acrylics bleed it’s harder to see the scene
colors escape their space creating a slurry
of what is where  where is when  when is why
and why don’t know why ..what?! but I know how
blurry lines take on a life of their own
and shapes a new fate from ‘no gesso’ mistakes

I could switch my style to snarly tiger stripes today
and gladly take that horse-headed knight down
that wooden old guard has new orders
he’s suspicious of me  scrutinizes me
but only half as much as I’m used to
his right hand on his monocle 
—the other eye blind

just beyond the reach of his walking stick
I free my torso of its purple grapevine corset
uncinching my fake waisted form   —I muse
if my time as a wastrel was wasted or invested
   oh …the monocle is telescoping me again
I shimmy lose my butterfly wings
slap him as I flap them  and fly away

it’s hard to know if I’m still beautiful
or if I’m just broken
—either way  I embrace the rainy side of the rainbow
happily discontent
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