Kelly Clarkson shows no sign of fluorescent color.
You know you want superpowers, purple lashes and brows.
Slouchy trousers open the door to special occasions, spoil
my body, invite a little invisible woman to a certain level of
Genesis. I tell her that she is the face with a twist of glitter,
the impeccably dressed tomboy, supple and smooth.
I’m way behind because I’m assistant directing a production of this thing. But in theory, I’m writing poems this month using phrases from the February 2020 issue of InStyle.