I was in my pollyanna mode
blissfully, stupidly unaware
and as it blasted into and through me
I met it so tough I nearly died then and there.

I thought I could stop it or slow it
I thought I could blend it into what I?d lived before
Inanely certain that I would survive it
but christ my god, you?ll never believe...the gore.

No, it is not a stubbed toe, or an annoying canker sore
but you do know that, else you?d have kept it yourself
you volleyed a volcano that blew out of a pore
and propelled the ghastly pus at me pell mell

do I look like ashes now?
Can you tell that I exploded?
Is there a chance of healing, tell me how,
I must just trust that you are truthfully devoted.

Is that because I have been thoroughly, skillfully "moded? "
Maybe I really was just imploded
though, certainly, properly chastised and scolded
well on the way to being re-molded

my happy flowers pressed and folded
and forgotten, like fairy tales and poetry....
everything that once upon a time meant me
cruddy dirty ashes, smelly scalded scree

prisoner to the single and the free
man who said he really loved me
when I was how I used to be
not this burnt-out, or burnt-in shell of me

be just honest enough to never pretend
that you aren?t the maker and destroyer of me
and when you toss me off at the end,

throw my poetry after me,
with a copy of "a lover?s plea"
could you do that much for me?