If someone wanted to make a movie out of us,
sitting over the water in our garden colors,
I'd be played by Michael Cera, and she would have to be the ghost of Edie Sedgwick,
Smoking an invisible hand-rolled cigarette,
swinging invisible pearls,
singing inaudible tunes with a haunting flourish.
only squares have a checkered past,
she says, through puffs of obsidian dust.
Her past is paisley,
painted daisy patterns
radiating psychedelia,
painted over dark glass,
painted over secrets
and you can just feel the skeletons of them if you
close your eyes and look with your fingertips.
hmm. I'll always remember this,
she says, and I don't remember much
unless its lovely. So smile because
Its between our heads forever, Lovely.
Well, you may have lost your mind,
but you haven't lost your personality, I say,
as part of her soul slips into the water
when she wasn't looking,
and now she has to gather it up like a skirt and wring out the saltwater,
shaking her head and saying
"What was that you said?"
Never mind, Lovely. Never mind.