The Writer- a tribute to Marissa

She starts.
Watch check.
8:04
The music is peeling like brown skinned bananas.
Curse.

Roses sing in choirs.
‘Strip, strip, strip.’ Sun’s angry.
Time for work.
8:05
Dragons breathe coffee steam
Marissa wants to die.
Bells ring, workshop’s up.
Rady to dance?
8:06
Beginning =s infinity.
Slack jaw kisses
Proud, torn dream scapes
Red and gold and fire.

She’s making Music.
8:57
Back packs speak stream line drawl.
Grunt
If, not, then, what
Go on little tea cup
I want to test the clocks
Tell me the truth
My music is the new Feng Shue
And the world
Belongs to the gyration
Of my hips.

9:00
Marissa’s sleeping again.

-Lauren Hatch
2/1/07