Spinach

Spinach

Meat splattered on a clean sheet of paper, running
down the edge making a black rose.
Hand it to a homeless man smoking a joint,
he smiles a side smile- tipping his hat at
a girl in a red skirt, with blood dripping down
her legs, probably from nicking her leg.
Where is the dandelion seed? Where did it blow to?
I want my five leaf clover to find me,
not for me to find it. I'm wandering through these
streets looking for a street sign
that doesn't say my name, that isn't so noisy, that
isn't full of thorns with no roses,
just black dying empty trash cans, with homeless man
picking out of them, Popeye
popping spinach in his mouth, ready to fight me for
the wrong queen.
I'm tired, I'm ready to plop on my bed, and smoke
a pipe too.
But I've just got to spin this yarn, hope
I don't get pricked, by the nasty queen.
She looks in the mirror, sucking in her belly,
stealing all my red roses, over, and over
and over again, throwing apples at me and cackling,
worms crawling all over my body,
stuffing my face with the marsh mellow game full of poison.