Beauty is Imperfection

Breaking news,
Anne Sexton died almost 50 years ago
Jar lids were pulled off
With rubber grips in
Mourning
The wings beat at the dozens per second
And the peroxide told its secrets to hair

Dogs have powerful bone jaws
And scrape metaphors off ribs
And they eat us out from the inside
With ravenous disloyalty
On Moloch lakes
Where former angels watched
Their wings become ash and turds

Another day a mind contends with
Living in flesh
Flued and sooted
But loses
And forgets itself
Dissolves
Into heroic glands

Talk to them
Not to me

I’ll be new tomorrow
We all are
Until ossified
And broken as news