appetizer eyes of Saint Lucy
and other times i looked up 
like a cluster of grapes--

we learned well how to look up
from a golden plate-- this is
where we see from the serving dish--
you tell me it's New Years--
and leave the rest of my body for
a furnace--

1.
roll your dollar bills into tumble
weeds across a table cloth--
stack me taller sundae spoons
-- my eyes have been free
for the taking-- i'm the Eiffel tower
made of pennies and quarters--
they teach boys to scowl
like the men posing on money

2.
the supermarket has samples on
sundaes and we all get free salsa
only onions sting as eyes drops
and i don't eat fried fish
even though God decided that
fish don't count

3. 
it's friday and the night walks
with heavy steps on the lip of
another plate of hor d'oeuvres

4.
remember me like a mini quiche--
coiled and naked for you
as a shrimp cocktail laid in ketchup--
pretend it's ketchup and 
not blood turned thick with 
heavy steps around the filo dough

5.
learn how to see with a tooth pick
through your iris-- the general tso's
chicken salesmen-- hand behind his back
teaching girls for the first
time to say 'no' but only
because we bodies don't eat meat
anymore-- and yes fish count 
because they have blank appetizer 
eyes like ours-- lay in the ice
to cool off from the furnace--
we can blink away the ash without
eyelids--

6.
i've been free for the taking
just to look down your throat like
an artificial grape--
soft and delectably dead

7.
feed me Greek goddess-- the steady
throat of another king who 
married us into a furnace--
twirl your eyes like spaghetti 
on forks--

8.
Saint Lucy saw the world from a golden
plate where we all want to sit--
so what if our eyes are reverted to
jalapeno poppers or 
mozzarella sticks-- bleed 
me marinara 

9.
who told you we could wear
a crown of fire

10.
it's New Years and i'd rather you hold
the golden plate-- if i have to serve
my eyes from here

11.
i saw the moon from the eyes
of a door knob to the brothel--
virginity is best compared to 
eye balls on a golden plate--
who wouldn't mistaken them for grapes?

12.
an apostle of small gatherings
and midnights--
me and Saint Lucy and all the girls
they teach how to balance fire on our
heads-- we all learned to lay 
naked as cocktail shrimp--
these pink pink pink
unborn body flame-- coil
and wait for someone to take notice 
of you from the plate--

1. 
what do you pay for in tumble weeds?
the expectation of the tooth pick
and denial of being by general tso
and his tooth pick teeth--
blindness pirouetted from a plate
of pasta-- oh there's so many different
colors you make us bleed--
the night walks heavy on the ledge
of a gold plate--

1. 
this is where we see from the serving dish

1.
martyr the waitress 

1.
pay me in a ride through a furnace--
we all know you came here to 
look down on me-- naked
and pale as filo dough--
this plump grape gaze
was waiting for a fat hand--
fish don't count in the mortality rate
-- and neither
do our eyes--
avert your stare-- 
i'm undressing