That damn hand,
Spinning by and by and cobblestone waltz-
Jars rusting with the saffron and lavender,
Appalachian wedding and polluted dress-
Yes, she’s a marionette, twisted with cotton vine
And scarlet marks.
Her blush, corrugated, a lunar crater in hollow cheeks-
And the wood pores soaked with dust,
Beetles and unbeautiful wisps.
A medley, she said, a clash of brass notes and choir screech.
The trampled grass and buttercups, perfect with the lace and sash-