autumn tangerine

jackie knocked on my door
told me to wash my clothes
or drive them to the dumpster.
so we took a ride
and tore every dress to shreds.

she tells me that my wrists are too small
and starts poking at my veins
mumbling something about astrology-
stars, meteorites.

she says holding your breath is good practice
"if you're going to sell yourself to the paper,
if you're going to be the artist.
my fashion week bullshit cigarettes were made of styrofoam".

she pulls out her check book
and now we're buying thread.
autumn tangerine.
because "there's nothing like making it yourself.
and that man, he's selfish".