My purse is a wide, soggy, mottled dream

Green, the kind that nostalgia is afraid of,

 a pistachio cream with hard grains

 hidden solid beneath its thin skin

A touch, a kind of oozing

 from those ogling green dots which

 scatter the front, back and strap

This purse is nascent, taut and nonsensical,

 a thick wad of multifarious nylon blended trash

Hanging from its flat noose

 like a bloodied goose dripping in a farmer's butcher shed,

 or a tear drop of sea sick sadness

About twenty paisley shapes shuffle across the front,

 a phantasmagoric cavalcade

 of prickly malevolent beings

those impervious things that nibble and chew!

Peridot creatures on a watery background,

 floating on a sticky aqueous stream

 of algae and delirium

Now the figures swivel on scintillating cilia

A cornucopia of earthly shades: grass green, boorish brown, bad black
The paramecium lies slide, up and down

between the strap,

 nestling the zipper's welcoming groove

Travelling down my atrophy arm
the alien life forms trace the creases

 in my purse like vinegar to psychotic flies

They smear the fabric with their slick slime
Electric blue eyes dot the fine line

 between dreams and reality

a schism in the wilderness of pure insanity
Stuck in time, an amalgamation of contusions,

 contortions which spin and sing

that bleeds this melancholy ear and ring

"I" is an object of objections

As I!

 alone amidst the greenest gurgling gorge
Of a simple epiphany

break the bones of my past

with a single, sack of green repose

words that mingle in their woe, through

tangible matter

I reveal the "me" in the thousand me’s before!

Organelles and cotton,
microscopic and enormous
are the screams in my head
This monstrous lump of fashion

sense sits serenely
with a big black bulge
Five nickels, ten dimes and twenty five quarters
Inside
I am worth this purse, a clot of mindful mistakes!
I am worth green envy, a jewel not worth a varnish!
I am worth sickly creatures, sycophantic beasts that lurk in my tragic heart!

Crowding my mind as an amphitheatre of ants!

Which, slung across my shoulder blade, crawl.
Looking down, with a frown, they drop,

My grimmest memories alive and well-fed,
one by one to my inhuman feet, and

I remember. I simply remember,
sauntering I go, down this lonely gray street called Life.