(the girl with the curl)
You do not know who you are dealing with I could bury you in a rage you’ll never see coming. You don’t know This Girl—When I was young I chewed through glass just to watch the mercury pop; before I spoke one word I made the temperature drop.
It’s not what you thought
I never got over playing pretend
The paper rolls of stand-up pianos
Singing by themselves
Wisdom eludes children
More than you’d care to think and
I often drink to remember.
Prepare a list of what you need
Reels ‘round the back of my head
Dragging its heels, taking
The asphalt with it
I am not kind
Not that kind anyway.
Lr Miller lives and writes in Northern California. Her forthcoming novel, [title redacted], is about a bunch of glamour slags getting effed-up at Beauty School.