The Trollop Maiden

But my life is not portable now
said the trollop maiden
I need fixed light
to make my witless orchids
grow
into prizes
and the machine I use
to make my bread
is too bulky to move around
easily and besides
it needs
especially heavy current.

But the old maid who lives in your navel
is the trollop maiden’s desire
and your orchids sing without smell
in the fixed light like sirens.

You can always run off
yourself
said the trollop maiden
but my life is not portable
yet she moved
into coquette with the rhythms
of a gypsy fiddle—
fired across my bow
with a mouthful of leaden pain
NOW
That’s one piece I cannot leave behind
she whispered.