I met her a couple of times–in the cool air of night by the ocean waves, nearly impervious to her presence.
the lady went to sleep with a belt around her neck, she swung from the smooth non-dairy ceiling
and it was tied around her throat.
we’ve all felt that way at one time in our lives, our time of probation and unpredictable farce;
I wish my feet would slowly pendulate
2 feet above the ground,
swing below the 8 foot ceiling,
surrounded with crown moulding and the
she had no mate or children but I hope she only sleeps then awakes so the gods can bless her beaten soul, her broken promises, her abandoned BMW she married last spring;
I can only wonder how bad she must have hurt to conduct a midnight lynching in the desolation of her now tainted home, strapped to the non-dairy ceiling with the keys still on the hook
slowly swinging in the dead-quiet room like the toes of her cold pallid feet,
a corpse without any shoes.