Xena

She makes a dawn novena, and worries about her feet, each dance is a movie scene, if she feels love, she knows it’s not so easy, but always stays in touch, every tune wears a sheen, bars are her sole conceit, singing comes from has beens, they raise their lousy bones, when morning turns green, undressing she prays alone, no one can see her, but with a depth of need, she catches morning TV, perhaps a communion shove, would make her heart beat, she pulls on her gloves, it could rescue everything.