She is the queen of continuing sorrow,
Tragedy has a nickname,
Tears a leash,
Doggy sweater for despair,
Mercedes and driver for misery.
That beehive hairdo is for her burden,
She will not go out until it looks correct.
High heels click the tattoo of iron rain –
The sadness of city isolation.
Hollow homes on hillsides perfect her wail.
There are other places she could live,
Other towns without glass mountains.
The sea is glorious when subdued by a window,
There are things that must not be remembered.