From an open-mic reading at Luna's a few weeks ago....

NOTHING LEFT TO SEE

I wanna stand under
a rain cloud.
Let mascara run
from the tips of my lashes
to my toes,
Let my mask wash away
with gum wrappers,
ticket stubs,
cigarette butts,
down the gutter
in an alley.
I wanna be baptized
by a summer storm,
like the ones I remember
in St Louie.
Standing there
naked,
stripped of my security
blanket of labels
cut away,
as your eyes
peel each layer
with laser precision.
Shedding skins
upon the pavement.
Nothing left to see,
but me.