—DON’T BREAK A HEART

 

 

Snake Skin

 

My beautiful ego hangs on a clothesline, like a drying rattler about to be beaten to pulp by a baseball bat, by either friend or foe, Palm Spring sun draining every unnecessary juice, even the most bloodshot, until I’m jerky, one eye twitching like a faltering bulb, the other bulging north, just bulging and bulging.