I don’t want to make sense,
because I lack the intent
of knitting stray English
[and]
I am not sorry that
my honesty is burlap.
I can’t help
as it rubs against
your foam heart.
You should know better
than to tell people
how strong you are;
you’re a brick wall,
but I know you’re rusting
like a chain link fence.
I want to break the face
you hide behind.
Because it’s photofinished
[and I’m not]
like the Mona Lisa,
and you’re a coward.