she jingled me with bellshine. she shed shingles on my roofstop. it was the easiest twenty bucks she ever made. it was a metaphysical party zone. Everyone had a little hat and steel collar shining underneath their tuxes. slices of apple pie locked in a vault under iron mountain. ice cream still frozen from the year 1885. horses drew me to her. a sleigh pulled over the sunshine. wings upon an ice queen. stars as dewballs. a buffet bar for moths. a box in my closet full of old mismatched socks and mittens. a ball of lint bigger than my head. and twice as heavy. the memory of skin and hair and sweat from fifteen years of washings. she whistled softly as she lopped their heads off. piled them all neatly in a basket under her arm. she picked brains like other girls pick daisies. rode the water carriage across the street. charon as the ferryman to the bad part of town. fingerlengths extending, slipping across the floor and around dark corners. joints bent to reach you. tips whorled to touch you like spider legs end in hairy grippers. feet embalmed in sodium pentathol. graves dug only to be filled with trash. a cemetery becomes a landfill gradually. i’m a diamond. i glisten. i glide along, listening. tallying the scores from both saids. she said this. he said that. together the thing they said was much greater (and much quieter) than either could have individually. i’m a sucker for optimism. a suction cup stuck to the bottom of love. waterwings dwindling in the distance. rooftop to rooftop galloping. i’m a sandstorm. you’re a plutarch. i’m a billboard, modified slightly to convey something different than the original advertising message. it could be costly to repair me. better just to let me be.