Trixie Carmichael Has Fallen in Love

She courts her reflection with eye-hardened resolve.
"Truth is beauty; therefore I am true," She may think to herself.
All the while the dirty dishes pile up and the laundry goes unfolded.

She kisses from a distance that only a sextant knows.
"Such pleasure I must bring unto you," She may think to herself.
All the while the fifty car pile up and beaten housewife go unseen.

She bats eyes in the direction of no one in particular.
"A shame you were not here to witness that," She may think to herself.
All the while the hissing cacophony of existences pile up and a cello goes unheard.

She ignores the smoke- the soot- the shit:  with ambivalent watering mouth.
"Imagine what it must feel like to see me amongst all this," She may think to herself.
All the while the sins of the dead pile up and the flooded city goes unpumped.

She does snow angels in the ashes of the long forgotten.
"I am a Metatron of the world around me," She may think to herself.
All the while vulture-picked eyes pile up and a flower goes unbloomed.

And Trixie Carmichael crouches down

to pick a daisy.

And Trixie Carmichael sticks it

behind her ear.

And Trixie Carmichael looks at 

The smoke-

The soot-

The shit-

And wryly smiles.

For Trixie Carmichael Has

Fallen in Love.