Queered Practice

Country music may be
Three chords and the truth
But you are jazz,
Baby girl
You are fractal and infinite
Points of intersection
Innumerate
Logical chaos
Skyscrapers and tunnels
Co-exist
Every window made from
Honey,
Glint and echo
Bounce beams 
Of meaning like silver
Threads, making a map
Of you
And the city of your
Mind sprawls in myriad
Directions, anchored
By crossroads forged
Of tonic chords