Sometimes you look at me like I was
made of cake.
You think I savor the story of a good break up
and I tell you
it beats the shit out of being
the one left. Some slices are better cut off.
I’m always the first to replace the last!
You should know that, before you go getting that look!
I’m not a French fry and you’re out of salt!
Birds are crashing the windows again
drunk on dog food and grass seed
from the back yard.
It’s a cold new year
and my cynicism
has me all choked up
I put it on and take it off
with spiked necklaces
and skinny jeans
on and off
banana peels on the closet floor.
I don’t know how to sustain desire
understand it only pertaining
to men who need to be seduced
lured with hooks in juicy cheek.
They only give hours of their time,
small pieces like appetizers
taste better than the main course.
And living together
I just don’t know what to do
BIO: Cassandra occupies Oakland, CA and writes of a counter culture childhood in Vermont and her ongoing adolescence in the San Francisco Bay Area.