This is me as a disposable poem - to be read in verse and in reverse

Dispose
after reading
me.
No need to re-read
after memorizing
my lines.
I am linear,
even in my curvatures.
I have curves
deep in the grave grace
of my depths.
Think of me departed;
not in plastic but in the flesh,
biodegradable
skin, tattooed on a head in the know.
Understanding me is a non-toxic affair,
shifting with sifted meanings; with inklings
not fixed in the softness of gold.
My value to you is paid
in attention.

(Now read the poem from last line to first before disposing of it!)

Jealous Angels of Gold

A halo cuffs her wrists.
A halo belts her waist.
A halo shackles ankles.
A halo squeezes her neck.
A halo grips each finger, every toe.
A halo floats above her head.
A halo robs her tongue of her speech, her mouth of her smile.
A halo rings her nose, her navel, and her ears.

Gold speaks on in ringing tones.
Gold commands in bright voices.
Gold shouts in joyous temper.
Gold melts in heated movements.

An angel breaks her halo for good.
An angel smiles.
An angel spreads her bare arms out.
An angel falls in love with light again.
An angel rises on two golden trumpets.

You speak my words.
I command your body.
You shout and dance in flames.
I melt in your name.

We watch the risen sun pause on his throne.
You turn from me, our skin lit up with dawn.
I feel you turning, and turn with you, drawn.
Listen for the applause of distant rain.
As one, we bow down low, our envy gone.

Mind Th_ Fifth Glyph!

You know wh_n I lost most of my mind,
Or at l_ast my m_mory of my lost mind?
I got to us_ your brainy h_ad inst_ad,

Still so us_fully full, _v_n minus on_
Tiny littl_ vow_l. You r_m_mb_r th_ day?
I dug down d_ _p into your cranium

To avoid any filth from that hungry glyph,
Who can hush starvation in plain sight
By siding with and sidling up to
Constant consonants, all abrupt,
I play guilty victim to synonyms,
Oh so unanimous, and anonymously,
Sliding and slipping into abnormality
By simply avoiding that symbol
And by using what I want known
As my symbolic infinity.

I almost found my mind intact, but I know
My loss, and yours, is not too dark a drama.
I can go on - my fifth glyph phobia grows

Tall without unwinding my day’s trauma -
As, pausing for you to pass by my window,
I coil, still as a cobra, a comma -