My home was black as any bible
if I remember rightly;
I was an anglerfish,
I ate my prey whole and
I lived without the sun.
For
a time, if memory serves,
I
was moss to a barefoot boy,
a gypsy moth, beating
at the window.
I
was Napoleon
before Josephine came along,
I was a satin-clad gun moll
blowing smoke in good guy's faces,
and the orchid of your eye, as I recall.
I
was a thief who stole your pain,
I was the child you never named,
the poison, that stays inside your bones.
I
was a stop on your way home,
if
I remember rightly;
I was a bottle of pretty pills,
as
I recall.