ANDY AND MARILYN

andy and marilyn were made

for each other:

he dressed her,

bedecked her

in her funeral flowers-

he was a weed,

she was a doll,

in his hands

the imprint

of her smile,

stolen

from the mona lisa-

across her mouth

a smudged, blood-red gash

he loved her,

he wanted her,

so he fed her

into his factory,

and off the reproduction line

she came,

still smiling,

that same fixed transparent smile

that same fixed transparent smile

that same fixed transparent smile...

andy cried

as the images multiplied-

somewhere in the process

his love for her had died.