Ode to Gray-Blue Jewish Lady
She wraps her windows like a baked potato.
Her feet are hard as armadillo.
Her lips are silent as Converse across kitchen tile.
The ghosts of pirates belch directions to lost seagulls
On the porch of her beach house.
They breath like the crew of a space ship
And hide notes to us
under the wigs of statues
under a la carte trays in prisons.
The morgue has its own billboard,
But when the sun sets it tosses red stripes onto the clouds.
They look like peppermints dipped in flour.
She's old candles and frisk, baking bread down the road.
Drives a blue hatchback. and
Been scared half to death, twice, still
Sleeps like a wrecked ship deck
Swinging like cow tits.
There is her aroma (A church in heat)
Torches breathe against the wall
A pirate dances past.
The shadow of a ghost
Hangs himself with its spook chain.
Her stilts fold up nicely.
Dressed in eagle feathers
Her teeth are stained by blackberries.
A pirate waits in the emergency room.
Methodically rubbing his hook.
She awoke in a tide of wind
Birds were still on the cattails of the lake.