Silver Mascara

You apply coats of silver mascara
to the puffy folds about the setting sun.
In the screaming sky mannequins flew.
From the silent soil red flowers grew;
one in the shape of an umbrella,
another: a pointed gun.

Paper Tooth

She made a paper tooth for grandma
with plenty of gold and silver glitter.
What gaudy thing! grandma said, bitter,
as if expecting the tooth to have been better,
not flat, not a child's gift, not yet another thing
she has to smile at, useless as her own sweater,
as her own memories; her bones.  Her heart.

Report of an Arrest

The state police report:
At one o'clock last night,  
a liquid gold sedan—
"a Mazda 3," they write, 
"an import," driven by
a man of black-and-white
complexion, suit and tie—
had come to park beside
a purple Firebird, right 
behind the fire temple,
on Ash across from Crown. 
And not that far from stairs,
and couple hydrants there.
Police became alarmed
at once because they saw
a sickly bandaged arm  
emerging from the car,
and wave—as if a star.
"Do not report," upset,
he said, "my life, oh please,
as though the world at large
considers me a threat!"
Arrested by police
right there and then, his charge:
Disturbing of the peace!