FREED VERSE

my hair is blown out now. 

it's no longer that lesbian pixie cut you loved so much.
it’s long enough to be coiled and toyed with,
pleated into tight braids,
pulled back into a high pony.
pulled, period. (ideally, 
with some oomph)

but it tangles.
yes, it can tangle, too.
its ends can split
and the frizz… 
boy, oh boy, the frizz. 
puts me on the fritz.
(apparently, it does the same for you.)

shame you think that sharpening a pair of clippers
will stop the tangles from coming.

i hope 
you pull my hair
out from your ears 
in knots.
i hope it scratches against your eardrums, 
strand by strand
taut 
covered in earwax 
and soaked in blood marrow—
dripping with the stuff, in fact. 

i hope you free your brain
from those keratin tangles 
lest you start to forget.

oh for the love of 

don't let the amyloid plaques 
put you right where you started,
right where you end: 
a rocking chair in the corner of a home
thinking of a me
you never knew,
only read.