new (revised) poem

Elegy For Lorna

September,
you slumped over

the air-conditioner,
under the weather,

your mirror
riddled with hairline

fractures,
a cleft reflection

of your
pierced face,

I tried to scoot you
sideways,

away from the balcony,
cornered in

a labyrinthine factory
of porn and taffy,

all I did
that year was chew candy

and mutilate
my froggish body,

pissing red,
you said you were sorry

before I carried you
to the reaper's lobby,

so squirrelly
on your mother's Campari.