i once stole a store mannequin

[axasos]

"i once stole a store mannequin"

because i imagined myself as her messiah, offering 
salvation in which she did not and cannot
pray for. seventy-four days had passed and still the same 
finger-print painted window mocked her vacant stare, 
alcohol-bleached dust nesting in those false polyester pockets
which draped over childish hips. she wanted to be 

an object of desire, elbows and knees bruised powdery white but
nonetheless virgin, a sign of pointless nubilities and painless 
dismissals. instead, dollar-store needles sewed up her plaster skin
as if they were stitching on embroidery in place of the
absence of Saint Laurent. 

to be honest, i once stole that store mannequin 
because i imagined myself as her, hands exposed and folded from
all obligations. my presence a fleeting thought, occupying space
for two seconds until it becomes a scrap of faux fur gone astray.
perhaps i’d catch a few acquaintances before the fashion turns old

again and i am no longer committed to memory. the life of 
eternal anonymity is a one-way transaction, promising discounts
off of the regrets and recompense i am supposed to 
forgive. occasionally, i need only blink to forget that i’ve
joined the soldiers and poor, all three of us so pitifully disremembered
we offend those who are still able to rejoice.

so even with an overcast tight over her mouth forbidding
all but that distant line, even with her involuntary silence 
that invites scorn, if you stand close enough you’ll hear
a patient, cut-flower sound of someone who is waiting
to die.