Crow Jane

the spangles sparkle differently
on her boobs now, but those eyes flash
the same pearloid shimmers as far back as the
thread of seconds will go, motions of disintegration
are papered in the same fragrance, the
iridescence we emit.

She sewed me up in plastic, Then vanished into
an oyster shell, it’s markings like sign posts
to California, to New York city.
I remembered her name. The hips
she shook. The softness of her intentions
cover

my skin, the mirror ball, the missing
cigarette smoke. In laughter,
Pulleys haul up ballons, and smatter the room
with pixie dust, this is where Crow Jane
becomes a valedictorian for all the valentines
there ever were.

–Hank Cherry