Today was April's fool. Silly girl.

Four poems, each a lie.

((words are like ethanol.
teasingly so-
and then once they're done flirting with you,
they go away.
evaporate, leaving no traces behind-
not at all.))

and in the end
we're all april's fool.
trapped in the summer heat-(or is it spring,autumn, winter)
jumping around in imaginary seasons
that put a slight spring (spring!) to our steps
and yet the heat presses down on us again.

time gently accentuates our features-
painting blemishes and little etchings over
our faces and
arms and
beautiful varicose legs and
our whitened--frizzy hair.

and in the end
we're nothing but white
white bones that break and
creak under
pressure of gravity.
-and under ground too-