The Clothing You Donate to Charity

Crocodile,

Single file, in the

Tight neck of a turtle

Ova Drest,

An overexcited spectator

Annoying to the rest of us

In lacy asbestos

We wear it for the best of us

Yet waste it at festivals

Unisex stretch,

A spandex space saver

Cosmetic pace maker,

A disclaimer

Toe-rag dragging

The standard under nylon

Manually, with silky ties

Cotton cataclysms annually

Algae blooms in aerial views

Uniform desperation,

Poly-blending, rule bending

Natural fibers!

Said a lively mastodon

Mashing with his molars

Mouthwatering galore,

The slippery spit

Of a tasty and tactical challenge

Cosmically rewarding,

A karmic recording

Too squeaky and new

Your body, betraying you

Like a carbonated ear infection

Like female underwear

And the hype it surrounds, sweaty & mysterious

Insurmountably not precious

And your ability to love someone

You’re not related to

Deranged and dirigible

Satellite frogs in clingy skin

In gold lamé and folded legs

The richest fish, a red herring

Encompassing a true bashing

Encamped and encumbered,

Always a favored flavor

In a lovely shade of blush,

Accidentally, he ate her

And you say, spectaculator

And you plan to watch it later

A perforated performance,

Crunchily distressed us

The anticipator

Belated and bewaited

Insta Gator – the alligator 

 

Truth with Hurtful Rumor

Left in the lurch of a driving hurtle

So, I say

Listen

Offhandedly and awesome

Twirling with a hula-hoop,

A raging hooligan

A foolish drift, drawn to this

A flawless rift between us

I look with hurtful glee

Affirming a prophecy,

The words I heard,

Shooting down a hallway

A highway

A truth canal,

Like a root canal

The byways, like flyaways

A tangle, always mangled beyond recognition

And payment, a fee of admission

Of loser confidence and loose extravagance

That I’m expected to extract?

Terrible and laughable

And incompatible

And thinking black and bitter

That no one thought of me

With deep breaths and a quick shift,

A distant epiphany

Gave birth to a litany

Inside of me

Yes, this is about me

It’s only ever been about me

I say with a posed look

And the dignity my foes took

 

My lips are loose and they do babble

Bubbling with things to say and recover

See, lover and seek cover, I beleaguer

With fatigue, sir, crowd pleaser

And Boy teaser, that I am her

I feel too revealed here,

And very mere,

I see a leer

And I peer

With growing apprehension,

A heavy-handed tension

I drag past strangers and slap on a table,

My body weight, my heat, my tapping feet

And drumming thumbs,

My long nails, and unibrow

And ominously changing mole,

I will carefully extoll

The riches and the soul

That I uncover all alone

I’ll leave it here

For you to snack on

Ruminate some more

Like golf balls growing in a womb

The places I have been

Are only changing more

And I doubt you and your hairdo

Of Fair hues and mulish views

Foolish, I think, your faults

Omitted in your eyes

Faced across by gaping insults

With surprise, I’m disillusioned

Grounded in my gender

Offender of good graces

And that is why I’m not close by.

When I am touched I feel my toes being gently sawn off,

With a slinky silvery blade

Whiskery and sure

Defined by fallopian tubes, untied, and insecure

 
Your Ultimate Creator

As a woman I can be an ultimate creator

I put it all together with experience and pain

And inside of me the raw materials slowly start to change

 

I know it will be beautiful, and lovely to name,

A constantly evolving art

Revolving on a different plane,

Alternate and same

 

The pieces come together with masterful attraction

There are no mistakes ever, only fated gains

Internally demanding, externally contained

 

Ghost of a Hitman

The ghost of a hitman haunts his foiled assignment

And year after year, he is filled with resentment

He’s not the only unsuccessful one

But he is the only unrestful phantom

And his spirit remains, critiquing

Attempts that are still not succeeding

So he bottles the emotion up tightly

And finger-writes in condensation on a mirror

Your arterial vein will be slit w/ razor (today),

Turn off the water while you're shaving

But his finger-writing is atrocious and the guy

Who is alive, somehow remains unbothered by

Ruby has fulfillment services,

Only to be had on Thursdays

 

Instant Love On the Dance Floor

It’s been thirty seconds

But feels like more

You smile when our eyes catch

Do I imagine our children –?  

I scrutinize, and decide,

Without your eyes,

And I am satisfied.

 

My sequined skirt straps my thighs tight together

Meaning, I’m not really dancing,

But melded in place, metallically

And tragically

You, leaning in,

“You’re such a good dancer!”

I know this, so I say

“I feel the same way,”

And you shout, “thanks!”

Unreasonably flattered.

 

Wrong, I think

As I shake my head to the beat

I know I’m a good dancer, but he

Could be better.

I watch him pulling my body closer,

And I analytically consider,

Should I not insult the possible future father of my imaginary children?

Where is this line between real life and fantasy?

He impinges with leisure

While I’m hindered by fashion,

So my hand at his collar bone,

And my locked elbow,

Preserve what’s between us.

Distance.

 

I’m bra-less and flawless,

And I dance with abandon,

Struggling with my sparkly skirt

Shimmy with me, I try to flirt

Down to my knees,

Mermaid style,

Made for less than two legs, but a great ass

Maybe veterans of a fashion war

Maybe women who wanted more

 

 Are these columns Roman?

No, they are stationary.

 

They were stolen

They are stone and may have roamed

     But not by choice, exactly

 

It’s almost like because we think

Dinosaurs will not wake up

     And reclaim their bones and teeth

 

Poverty and oppression

Are the same as mass extinction

     In the eyes of a museum

 

And something else is taken too,

Shipped along to someplace new

                              Identity  

 

© 2016 by Parisa Zarringhalam. Proudly created with Wix.com

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