The First Lady of Cool
was my eleventh cousin
twelve times removed
from simple realities
she preferred
three-headed catpeople
to television or marriage
she was a mover
in closed circles
elephant riders
and unknown poets
she covered her walls
with empty frames
thought out loud
about psychotic equations
and fixed her flavored lipstick
in an antique mirror
she found while diving
in the president’s Jacuzzi
Last Poems--Outsider Art 