of time.
into a bald frog nobody wanted to touch.
very pretty, i lied to my mother.
i’d shown up late in a night-ripped dress.
you were always lying about the plastic tides.
flapping your hands at the humid dusk.
from the sky. there is a toy house.
on the telephone wire in front of the house.
i lied the neighbor peeping in the kitchen window.
and none of the tender roses cut my palm. 