*South City Skin* The alley is naked with its electric wire veins stretching across the bare backsides of buildings -- its little bin soldiers of waste sit in line, waiting for the golgi bodies in uniform to dump their contents into the stomachs of the noisy trucks that smoke their way through the backstage of the city. The rats, the homeless peck about like tiny viruses seeking a way into the vessel of the host that stands three-storied with her face painted for the passersby peeking through the windows of the buses that drive slowly down the street, thirty dollars each for the gentle touch of the antebellum South. *Welterweight* In the checkout line at the A&P, ass-slap got my attention. “Mama, She got big ole muscles, Big muscles, Mama” from the mouth of a two foot critic. I got my weight in my legs like a broad side lizard mouth, all puffed out to show some might. Lady flushed sunshine red and grabbed that baby round the neck. Pulled my fists to my ears and turned round, teeth ashine, full on flex to prove him right . *Counting Tiles* I counted my disorders And doubted anyone was sane. Every sullen face glimpsed through windowpanes Has a diagnosis in my head, and I wonder if They are medicated like me. Certainly a bit of madness infects even the most rational Like a dip in the river Styx, A lunatical toe that betrays the healthy whole. I am the human acronym, A medley of discordant notes played with furious speed, Each racing to conquer and crush. I am head walking down to count, A missed step, a portent of disaster. I build mental forts with pillows and sheets from The safety of my bed and Hide inside with a midnight light, Editing and revising The rough draft girl. I know that there is beauty in the cleft in the garden wall that Offers a glimpse of the redolent and the pure. I’ve lost a few petals, But I’ll last until the dawn.