ab whore

to use a body as leverage
a body may not be touched

to refuse a body as leverage
a body must first be touched

three use a body
levers age

one suicides

on fortune

the funbags were filled with jizz
they were caught on the ledges
they are dripping days later it is now
dates and days later when we broke up
did it break my heart yes it did
but my decision has been mirrored
like snowflakes in the garden
the funbags were filled with jizz
and were proto-femimasculine
I wanted to date a FtM transsexual
but all I found was a bottom boy who looked like one

"You will be preparing"
for centuries, what I read beholdens me
I wrap my face in flame to hide
the hurt, the bit salami
saying salacious sins

the raw tiger milk suck was hurting my teeth
my mouth a fanatic angery
fraught cannon
at the lip of hysteria would it leave
would you leave me to my devices
the chicken
wing would wring from me
a cheese string they call the soul
when you would leave me a panera bread
might pop up as the garden sought black gristle from the char
fracas the ouroboros sign tattooed on your chest
under the hair I want put there I think I've seen pictures of you
in the dicktionary and when I splattered on
the entry the door the vomitorium the solarium
the chiseledarium I couldn't atrium to myself any more
any quickening could I feel our baby turning

Notes from Montana
April, 2008

We thought we were so tough, that we could tough it all out on our own. Was that really the way? What day is the real Earth Day? Dying from all the cigarettes. The born letters and paperclips. Supped on rice wine vinegar and our own hearts.

can create a new waiting
or traveling game
the little girl espousing re: the/our plane
how to punctuate all of these smarties
what sort of imagery
symbolizes lateness
what sort of snobbery
in the intellectual community
the baby growl and the girl behind her
in a hideous lilac scarf
why did someone knit it
did someone throw it out

smoked a cigarette down to its root
in a place almost in bloom
a dead tomato
rubbing thumbs against the ragged
edger of a key

not yet=net
i’m flying along all these prizes
still green from chapping
and chips melts lips
we’re a Mark Jarman hater
we’re an electic boulevard
we’re a candidate for twelve steps
we’re wilt
we’re thou
did you bring me a book?
did you bring me length
or an armchair with which
to simulate it?

book-length don’t be late
I’m flying home to a place
I’m about to leave
met a man there
I want to take with

Sovereign noons no want of caricature smell of smooshed dog shit and all the local papers. What else did you want to think about, to make the mind a wand. Could I go there or would you have to know me, spoiling all the splendor with a kiss? Make it all come down to the river. Make it all up like a spoiled secret, a way of creation that lymphs at the seams, spreads its breadth. Orange cyclists down at the river, and woods no one could create. Shunt some sort of sneakers towards me and I might bite. Still rapids and the moniker of spring time posing as sun in the whips of forest the harsh first timing us, themselves. How else would you move to meet me orange orange Oliver silver slivers of pants and how hot they make us feel. Could you hang out for a few good hours. Could you canticle through all the targets and visit when it pleased you? All the other moneys we saw standing–we were awed to be still, to be there. I wouldn’t dream of it any sooner and I wouldn’t allow it to stymie me. Wouldn’t you like to sit down with me and study. What visits would you think of drawing near. We are so sudden here into the dirt light we are so here at the coughing of knob hill. How salivatory is it to sit down here at this coffee shop and experience what else it could be. How boring. How bright white and chilled zinfandel. How else are these rows composed, that you would like to be the one to paddle down theo river in your yellow winter gear. I won’t allow it to come to me via a stool sample or via a soldier. Are you going to ask me all sorts of questions or are you just going to pick me up from the goddam airport. I could use some Tani perspective–she’ll want an explanation of this river. This river is small enough for low bridges. This river is about thirty meters wide. Calculate how many feet that would be, we Americans. We haven’t felt anything so big ever. We haven’t ever been more than fourteen days old. What else would you like to talk about here? How people will be people, how they will assume that you want to meet them for drinks. How often do you tell people you’re gay, or would they somehow find that out anyway. Not that it’s mattered the fourteen other years you’ve been it publicly vocally. Is this really something you ought to be writing about. Don’t blow the cover of my anonymity. I’ll tell whoever I goddam want that I’m an alcoholic, but how does that translate to my being gay–and does it matter. We’ll spend all afternoon together, I promise. You busy people and how you’ve all had your questions. I’ll sit lumply here and I’ll not enjoy myself on purpose. So what do you think about that, summer school man? Doe that ride your covers? Does that chap your lane? Does it make it any easier not to feel bad. About anything or at people specifically. That way when we age we can look back and think ourselves foolish. Do we have some sort of return address for you on file or should we do something else with it all. No one promised you anything. Could you please let me know which of you wanted to go out to eat and why I felt so socially awkward about that. Don’t let’s make this an issue. Don’t let’s make us that easy to turn and off like a tap fountain. Would you like to explain yourself to me–would you like to be the Alan Greenspan of our technology we have all this time to eat up like Pacman and the chump chump chop chop of all our teeth could at any moment click into place. When I wrote that out it looked like dick and I didn’t want anything else to do with it. What sort of news habits are you about today? Are you some sort of an orange matron fish–what sort of internet connection could you claim. We are all into one another here. Remember when internet used to be capitalized? We all know one another’s gossip, and we will for the next two years. Is that going to be an I sore for you? Would you like to find out what the structure of the program is. What sort of classes do you teach here–the undergraduates here as well. I’ll call you in Chicago. The second one I’ve met here–they’ve all been super nice. What can you tell me about that. We don’t have to be so anonymous anymore. We really already know each other. I’m sure we can all draw our own conclusions pretty readily. To have been in that straight environment for such a time has been nice. What are you all doing later tonight. Is there any sort of a social group that goes on? Would you like me to pick you up and take you round, pretending I have a British accent? That might be really nice. Was I smoking a cigarette then? Of course. I’ll print out all my questions to ask you but first I’ll head to the coffee bar are you talking about the wobblies? The international w.w.’s are we snowed in target. There are so many people agreeing that the lions have set up house. No one contends enough to get married to join enlongation. My bat slams scissor. What is discourse? Seven or nine crows break the silence of the sky with their black bodies /snap/ mike it up, pinky fingerous does she deny that she’s made in the USA or that she works on a computer? Norcomm; what are our responsibilities in this love bath?! Months ago we’ve been down this road with brother antoninus ripping off his robes in Ohio and it smells like wool socks here, and sunsets those skin chapping products are realized as oil petroleum loosed and bananas come from south america–gas guzzling sea necks!

What is cyberbear sounds like a gay porn site the argumentative hand nail and all the politics I need to work on my face of disbelief or righteous indignation at sane level not able to get ingratiated seemingly. Slowly What’s the relation of the old women to the cousin? The relation of the old women to the cousin.

With a brain like this you can meet someone ten or fifteen times and no know them. The date today-the date. Artichoke flowers have we set down here. We talked about the weather and about the mountains. It exists because that is the way I worte it. They feel like they have to be kind to the students somehow; why is that because they’re giving them a diploma. I have this pad I’m scratching on I’m scratching Scratch scratching off likea cat I’ll call you and I’ll tell you what is freaking me out today. Would you like to show me your place. Could you plase call me back to ease my mind. It’s been about two days in there in the closet. The girls calling out to one another: want to have flowers for breakfast. I guess I couldn’t be an undergrad anymore. I’m much too old. He had all those years of sobriety summed up for me. When does the class start. You and your white shirt. I am an orange peel. I am an arm. Not that much at stake. Holub-Czech poet, the Shine Delgarno sequence.

here where large things may
eat me in the low air
high air
low oxygen
four deer accompany my hike
to the “M”
eight deer
I want to jump
lone
on Sentinel

a duck over a net bridge
flying
moon over Missoula
find a shine penny
in the mud

unique ki ----- what could be mixed

key the brie ------ summertime in the Montana call it sum sum

cassoulet the brie ------ like the British call math "maths"

moulade ----------- they're lounging on rocks in the midriver

phrenology quiche ------ suppose something ineluctable

quickie ------- suppose something mulling

shut your face on my mouse ------ the phone is grabbing b-grabby

sharties ------ shut the birthday dowry, its door is yell

lubrary ------ use the small plastic receptacle

Click on the blue links!

Old Liquid Glass

The sun on those vermiculate brown leaves
and red berries. Outside
there is a window mirror
some call a mirror.
If one peers through it
it predicts one’s death.
Dare to look?

My death involves the color red, charts
and maps. Also gold lamé
and strangulation.
I think you were there.
Do you have anything to say
in defense of your future self?

My living room table
consists of a pile of old crackers, pieces
of tape who’ve lost their stick, and pictures of you
I took surreptitiously at last month’s ball .
You were dressed as a King
and I was a lass festooned in your graces .

You soaked me like a charm in perfume.
You–I basked in the aubade (pronounced here as äb-äd-A, with the primary stress on the third syllable) of your smile.

So what do you have to say for yourself
for stomping into my room, mussing
the curtains and bed sheets, and smooshing up my heart.
As though I were a recipe
to follow and be done with.
Toss after baking.

No! I didn’t come over here to talk about that.
How would you know
what an ass you could be in the future.
Only alcoholics have such omniscience,
and you are definitely not an alcoholic.
Pity.

A pity you couldn’t
be a one who has the right to supple hearts,
your own pickling process incomplete .
No.

But when you looked
in the mirror
it struck you blind .

The mirror shows you only
the lives of other loves, what they didn’t tell you.
They don’t trust.

You saw me
shoot myself in the stomach.
I wore gloves
and had a smear on my face.
I didn’t know
anyone would be watching.

The mirror doesn’t show
all the daisies I pluck for you.

That is in the present.
Presents don’t qualify to be sought by the mirror.

Seek the mirror.
This mirror specializes
in Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.
If you can see where something is you
can’t see where it’s going (the past.
We are always seeing
the past, even now
on the pages these ideas
are gone), and if you can see
where something’s going (the future–
what mortals consider death) you
don’t know where
it is.

Hence your blindness.
So if I put this cloth in your hand
and tell you it’s gold lamé you have to believe me.

Why wouldn’t you?
After all you saw the future already .

Though, of course, time doesn’t exist.

Who needs that seeing perception now .
If I take your hands
around my neck
do you understand?
Purple royalty checks
and bed sheets and you here with me.

I begin to feel a tingle I mistake for your love.
You mistake it for shame or anger.

I become an apple you want cidered.
I can tell you that afterward you will
draw around it, an arrow
through a battered heart, a man
who needed the abuse.

No man here. Just gods .
There are plenty of schools
to teach you Braille in the day or night.

Ode to Sleep

want the quaking aspen

want the suffered
orange the green with guilt

and cover up the smart




triple wonder face cat
gutted shrunken harmony
jalopy frighten

I couldn't respond to my ennui
without curtains

odalisque nature
curlique rampion

ramp champ, bit draggled

when I saw the horse, she bit me fierce and long and red and trying, bit and whiskered, I create a present without you, without me, the lone train skitters across the sky like the memory of a lullaby song, a shorn someone


knotted cream, thick silkings my ceiling a grade for you to crime

I want that scarp opened the sky a brunt and when does sky become air
asked Eileen Myles and I answered her, where

hunt the scarlet down down
to where it roosts

to wake the legendary aspen

when asking opens

what wakes



when the skate is a bird
and not a lamb, is a fish and not a turtle

what eggs on the firsting

my fist a puzzle, a monkeybread anagram

dharma bent on crusting
the sky with scallions

starts of stars awaken
like the white knife of the blue heron

her head a grief of sharp clouds


when can I learn to whisper my epsilons, my mouth
a Mundt a namer, can we transfer something cream


a shell opening its sweet brine
a sand grain browing over my eyelid

can escape become
objective


or will we deign to feign
communion


milkround taste of sky
earthy and rut and fro

open my me to our

hunt the scallop

I wish the target range closed to all of us, milky-
grey and salivate, an article of frail

bream like lemming light, their bodies
under dusk

when the horse bit my ferret I cowered until time
was ruined and opened from the inside

bottlewet with sky, milkwet with teeth,
bonerwet and shy, orange and green and seep

to be a sweet young thing is to be a book ordered from the shelf
come down here, embarrass me by your load

tell the librarians you were sick and needed help to carry your books
tell the librarians to make sure they demagnetize the books

I allow myself to frown under the weight of the words
my fortress of shelves is weighed down with frontlines of you

opening lines, drawn articles, the drowsy poems are what
what are they doing on your lawn, wetting the weeds

their milky rink, their wet and color, their slickslipstream
of waterborneelement are singing my love for you

aren't we all in love and forgetting it
I weight the shelves with magnets, color wheels

chocolate-brown steps, the library I hid my books in
because I hadn't time to check them out, I hadn't time to arm

myself against the storm, when others buy sopping bread
I suck sweetened condensed milk from your pages, your non-

orgasm so sweet as I do

morning thunder

thrust your heady head
in between tennis racket strings, when you react
to the rift in the sky
is when I see me.

Rope the sky with white wire, plinth
and liminal and great green. No more sky
no more mushroomfirecrackerbloomingfromtheearthernsea

Harbinger of mudlongs,
I salute your hungers. I want to appetize
myself in your wrungings.

Bell, round and grey, brassy with rain,
you pretend yourself a cloud. If I could see your
'west of here' and raise you one 'dollop,'
we might have a game, a game.

fake page, I can't hold you, hole you for warmth, for the jungle of sweet I want to inure in you, for the trial and missive, for the way we want connection, I want to anthropomorphize you, Americanize you and misspell your weight, want the ae combinations of Latin and Greek to course through your words, I want there to be more wanting, to be need in a simple way; the trial lawyer said he didn't want to be in the prose poem, that he preferred preserves of plum and apricot and boisonberry to the tart receptacle of this word container, this fake page that blooms like a white lily and someone once told me that creating a white computer page was a feat, was difficult, and now I can download you something fierce, I can transcribe the trial lawyer against his will the way I want to control this world, the pen is a sinking cursor, your face is the avatar I wished upon, the gargle of paper is down on this duvet and sinking, the ground is sinking in swoon, soaring whimpers, groom the basket, tell the fishermen to take in their nets they're sinking, pressure is sinking, weight is down, the bucket of grooming material was left with the village stags, that ball you were chasing has hunted itself down, I can't hold you enough, you print your blanknesses on me, I fill myself with them, the feathers are rotten and whole, tiny bones, Latin bones, urns of olive juice, grape wine distilled and fermenting, veins rolling, to be need in a simple way; the trial lawyers said now that we are here we want supplication, we want bread and vomitoriums, we want someone other than us to be rug-burned, we want transcription, we want silver pens and philosophies, we want unique characters, we want traits, we want our hair in bright silver equinoxes, we want blotters, we want desire to be a theme of not only this but every poem, we want geese, the pin is a sunk brine, open the gut it is a container as well as are atoms and frills, look deeper you'll see shells and manicured pigs, I see your wire disposition cutting a rug up for its texture, the colour sung already under your eyes, you spat on the trial lawyer, singularizing him, making him crawl, I want to do that already, to sink with my wings in the sea.

your words panache me
I slip their sheaths and score
the middleplasm like green cells
like science

no godblood too sharp
nothing small enough to cry out
the ping of popping corn inside metal

the sing of your throat
a scarpal sigh, a winging

I want to row with your words
the bulleted fries that lodge themselves
sweat in my throat

I saw their singing as an objective
as a missile untreated

-

and when you sang for me
we both groomed


-

and when I sang for you
the room tired, the slippers felt the drapes
felt dramamine

-

no singing continuous

-

such that frequency can break light
bracts and barnacles

the soulless wires

o gunnels to represent trees
o marching bands to represent leaves
o forest to represent
the bark of an anion

-

cytoplasmic entreaty, the cough of my lungs is cellular
is the fate of space and time, though we knew better
we still fell

ze dimeadozen, young cumshots
explicate, never explain

put me on a shadow trumpet
to negate its sound, put your frumpetteaset

through my dream

in lace, your cock caught
dippy meddisease

from too much sposure

too sunny light



gradations arrest me
through my knees though they stray

such supple action
woven gluttony sweet
release

of seed from mato
the plants indeeddodream

stand against my picky window
draw me mine fence, believable
as a shadow, the rust of dawn
on the crust of the sigh

o sky milk

radon jitters, darning rows

I chatter myself to sleep, the rust
of matters up my hems

soiled gramophone
wet
bellwether tigress


rent spasm
of wet tore feather

name here


prayer lyric schlong

o gobbler
o imagey bird like a comby cocky partridge


like a one-
handed menagerie


ever seen a squirrel pee

cum describe the milky way

vernacular the familiar tern

I wrap the want in a slit



arm the printers arm the pizz

o lona

o dolores

o colour theory

o search engine

hardy harpy

grizzled pril

I want to soldier the manhole, hunt the fartgods



please, says the wind

please open my face to could

if I could rain


couldyouseethethunder
hunger?

grab my flight

let's attach


garter on, roundling

priss the opening, edge the edges

I want to pillowfly

I want to gargle feathers


I want to drown in soft flight
to drown in frying

the band is startled
by the cumshot

it sounds a troubled drum


when we warped

when we flicked


tonight we fry
the feather sounds like the rasp of skin
on hair on skin

on a kiss

I stole your handjob
your face was a lying
I told it to come over here and it was a scorpion
but compliant

liaison
the juxtaposition

fifteen candies
in two jars

you do the math
and come over here

show me your wing abacus

I want to icarus you

give me your waxy seed
let's genetics

let's genetics together
the jewelweed

the ripple of the pebble
called tide

I want to rape the moon

My mother Mare moon

told the petshop to close early
to get some parakeet lovin

to open the candy store early
close me early, I tell the wings

I tell the wind to show you my way

to the shoving match of the social
in my face

I brush wingspiders off my sap

I wing the reddrum down

I want to warp something in feathers

to cum the waxy feather mainstream theory


let it open

let it fly open

and fall

when isn't my garden howling
when itself is a clicking

a mischief in the whisper

the wind has knocked on itself

creating a door
to the agriculture

I grown the rime
groan, morton

when isn't the duck slack

when the door is if

triple the window, try it

wind on it, open it, triple it, stick your face through it

supple
it

limn it

grackles in the face of adverse
react

to the pleasure principle
of expectation

repeat for me the garden

repetition, for me, when you

became vegan to lose weight

was it conscious

knowing you were gay in Mississippi

with a fag-hating brother

you got along well with cocaine

you wrap in a garden

green Adderal

mark-ups from the door to the garden
allowing a grackle in, only one

too expensive

to green the face of time
expand

berry one-handed typing

they replaced the Kum & Go


with something boring

joe me a hamburger and perpare

for insolence



but in the etymological sense, infused

with sun


o my icarus, my son-melon marcus

my matte frame for me

is in the mail


o sailor of distance I crab my
enemy, time

like a whipped rag


don't replace no Kum & Go

form me

Messages to the Moon

This love is a little girl throwing an armful of mud
into the air, running underneath, and screaming
with joy.

I'm thinking of you this morning. I was thinking of
you last night, when the cool breeze and full moon
filled my apartment.

I am out on the lake in a green boat
which is painted to match the water, so that rangers
cannot arrest me for sunbathing. They can not
find me. I float on the waves and look at the sky and sun
myself in the breeze. I think of the full moon
hidden by the sun.

Past and Future Lovers

Poem for Brian:
will gold coins fall from the surface of the ocean
like conch shell trumpets, will mermaids
sound like wind chimes made out of delicate glass sculptures
or like scratched dolphin wings and snails across the insides of ears
will mermaids of light mix light and air together with a spoon
made of silver feathers, their hair silver and gold and red and green in the sun?

Poem for Nick:
large shadow fish who appear only at night and
can travel swiftly through the water without swimming—
they are all whispering to one another, like ghosts
or sheets flapping in the wind. We strain to hear what they say to one another.

Poem for David:
Cynthia is riding a large white seahorse and sees
a giant seacastle in the distance. It is so white even
the sun has trouble hitting it.

Turtle Reef

Turtle Reef

Chapter 1: Exploring

There is a turtle named Wade. He lives in the ocean
with his family. He has so many brothers and sisters
that their dinner table takes up an entire section of
the ocean floor. Wade loves his family, and they play
together every day in the ocean: They ride waves,
learn how to spit water out of their noses, and learn
to swim.

One day Wade asks his mother, "Can I go exploring?"
She says, "Sure, Wade, but make sure you take your
younger sister Cynthia."
Wade agrees, and swims away to find Cynthia.
When he finds her a few minutes later, she is crying.
"Cynthia, why are you crying?" asks Wade.



Chapter Two


"I can't find my favorite pebble," Cynthia answers,
cheeks wet with salt water tears even under the ocean.
"Well, let's go on an adventure to find it," suggests
Wade.
"That sounds like it could be fun," says Cynthia.
"It WILL be! Come on!" exclaims Wade.
Wade and Cynthia flap their flippers and head off into
the ocean, swimming around each other in the water.
After they swim a little while, they see a hermit
crab. This hermit crab is named Molly and is their
undersea neighbor.
"Hi, Molly!" they shriek.
"Whoa, whoa, kids, watch your voices. My ears aren't
what they used to be," says Molly.
"Sorry, Molly," says Wade, "But we're just excited to
be going on an adventure today. Say, have you seen
Cynthia's favorite pebble?"
"I don't know," says Molly. "Could you describe it?"
"Cynthia?" asks Wade. "Do you remember what your
pebble looks like?"
At this reference to her lost pebble Cynthia starts
crying again, but she manages to sniffle, "It's small,
and speckled, and it's my favorite pebble!"



Chapter Three


Wade says, "I know you're upset about your pebble,
Cynthia, but instead of crying about it, let's go look
for it."
They both wave goodbye to Molly and continue on their
journey.

The next friend they run into is a giant sting ray
named Ray.
He's also a friendly neighbor, and his skin is brown
like the bottom of the ocean.
"Hi, Ray!" calls out Wade.
He doesn't answer, or even seem to hear them, so Wade
swims over and sits on him.
"Oh, Wade and Cynthia! I didn't see you! I was
asleep!"
In our last episode...
Wade and Cynthia run into Ray the sting ray and wake
him up.
What will happen today is anyone's guess. Read on to
find out.



Chapter Four


"Ray!" Wade screams, running over to his v-shaped body
on the ocean floor and giving him a big hug. Ray had
known Wade and Cynthia and their parents from before
they were even born. Both Wade and Cynthia considered
him practically an unofficial uncle.
"Wade and Cynthia, what are you doing this morning
that's so important you should interrupt my morning
nap?" asks Ray.
"We're looking for adventure, and Cynthia's pebble."
Wade says.
"Well, don't head down to the reef today. I heard
there's going to be all kinds of adventure, but it may
be too dangerous for you two." says Ray.
"Ray!" sighs Cynthia. "You know we wouldn't go down
to the reef without mommy or daddy!"
"I know that, Cynthia, but I worry about you two.
You're big enough to get into some real trouble now."
"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Ray! Trust us.
We're turtles. Always cautious, always trustworthy,
always sticking to our word." says Wade.
"Now for the real issue at hand. Have you seen
Cynthia's pebble?"

to be continued...
Will Ray find Cynthia's pebble? Will Cynthia find a
princess mermaid? Will gold coins fall from the
surface of the ocean? You will have to wait to find out!



Chapter Five


When we left our heroes last, Wade was asking Ray if
he had seen Cynthia's pebble...

"Well. what does it look like?" asks Ray.
"It's small and grey and beautiful," sighs Cynthia,
not crying this time.
"I haven't seen anything small and grey and beautiful
today," said Ray, "but I also just woke up. Let's
look around here."

Just as Ray said that they all heard a beautiful sound
drifting over from the direction of the reef.

It was the song of the mermaids.

"Remember, kids, don't go over there!" repeated Ray,
to their consternation.

"Ray..." they groaned.

"I'll look around here, guys, and if I see anything
small and grey and beautiful-"
"And speckled!" piped in Cynthia, suddenly energized.
"If I see anything small, grey, beautiful and speckled
I'll let you know," finished Ray.

"Thanks, Ray!" they cried, already thinking about that
haunting melody in the distance...



Chapter Six


"Come on, Cynthia! Let's go!" says Wade, and off they
swim, waving their hind paws at Ray as they go.

They swim in a few lazy circles, but they both seem to
like the song in the distance.

"What is that beautiful music?" asks Cynthia.

It seems to be distracting her from missing her
pebble, it is so pretty.

It sounds like wind chimes made out of delicate glass
sculptures.

"It sounds like mermaids," says Cynthia, when Wade
doesn't reply to her question.

"Well...what is it, Wade?" she asks with a bit more
force behind her voice.

"I don't know, Cyn, but I love it," Wade sighs,
seemingly off in his own world.

"I have an idea!" shrieks Wade suddenly, startling
Cynthia.

"What?" asks Cynthia.

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>
will they follow their ears?
will the mermaids be green or blue, or maybe even
orange?
they say the song of the mermaids is intoxicating...
stayed tuned for tomorrow's TURTLE REEF, starring Wade
and Cynthia!



Chapter Seven


Last time in Turtle Reef...

"I have an idea!" shrieks Wade suddenly, startling
Cynthia.

"What?" asks Cynthia.

Today in Turtle Reef...

"Let's follow our ears!" shrieks Wade, excited and
flushing blue in his green face.

"You're scaring me, Wade," says Cynthia. "We're not
supposed to go to the reef, remember?"

"But if we close our eyes and swim toward the music,
we won't know which way we're going."

Cynthia could not argue with that. It made sense to
her.

Both Wade and Cynthia close their eyes and start
flapping their paw, swimming gracefully although not
exactly in a straight line. They put their paws
together, holding paws so that they don't lose one
another.

"Wade, this fun!" whispers Cynthia, ears straining for
which direction the song is coming.

"Turn a bit left," whispers Wade, and they swim on for
another five minutes.

The song grows louder. It sounds like conch shell
trumpets and beautiful ethereal voices. Beautiful
like scratched dolphin wings and snails slithering
across the insides of their ears.

"It's so beautiful..." says Wade as they approach the
sound.

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>>

What will happen?
will the mermaids be green or blue, or maybe even
orange?
they say the song of the mermaids is intoxicating...
stayed tuned for tomorrow's TURTLE REEF, starring Wade
and Cynthia!



Chapter Eight


Yesterday in our story, Cynthia and Wade were headed
closed-eyed for the song.


"Why, hello, there you silly green mittens!" said a
voice right in front of them.

Both Cynthia and Wade's eyes popped open in alarm.

It was the most beautiful mermaid Cynthia had ever
seen. She was made of light and air, mixed together
with a spoon made of silver feathers. Her hair flowed
like silken tofu, and her legs were not legs at all,
but a long tail that tapered to a golden fork at the
end.

"Wh-who are you?" asked Wade, his voice shaky with
wonder and delight.

Find out tomorrow who this mermaid is!



Chapter Nine


"Wh-what are you," asks Cynthia, her voice shaky with
wonder, fear, and awe.

"I'm a manatee mermaid," the mermaid says, her voice
liquid planet. "I come from the reef and you can hear
my seven sister singing there."

Wade and Cynthia looked around. They were no longer
in their neighborhood. None of the rocks and plants
looked familiar. It was new and frightening. The
green plants seemed bigger, the kelp more menacing.
Even the stones looked like they were up to no good.

"Where are we?" asks Wade.

"We are in the suburbs of the reef, the poor suburbs.
Around here some of the fish have no food to eat, and
their is hardly enough sunlight penetrating the water
for the plants to eat." The mermaid seems saddened by
this.

"What's your name?" asks Wade, acting like a reporter.

"Susanne," she replies, almost singing the name, high
note low note.

"Susanne?" asks Cynthia. "I like it. It's a very
soothing name."

"Yes," says Susanne, "and you should meet my seven
sister of silver tongue. All our names start with
S's."



Chapter Ten


"What's your name?" asks Wade, acting like a reporter.

"Susanne," she replies, almost singing the name, high
note low note.

"Susanne?" asks Cynthia. "I like it. It's a very
soothing name."

"Yes," says Susanne, "and you should meet my seven
sister of silver tongue. All our names start with
S's."

"What are they?" asks Cynthia, intrigued.

"Susanne, Sylvia, Sue-Ellen, Sylvania, Slick, Stepron,
and Starf!"

Cynthia giggles. She isn't even thinking about her
pebble.

"Can you take us to hear them sing?" said Wade.

"Sh!" Susanne suddenly whispered. "The evil ones
approach. Quickly follow me, ask no questions, and
stay close!"

Cynthia is filled with dread. Wade looks at her, his
eyes pleated with concern and his forehead a
premonition of wrinkles to come.

"What are the evil ones?" Wade aks himself silently.

They follow Susanne's swiftly swimming tail back into
some tall blue seaweed. They have to hurry and swing
their flippers quickly to keep up. She's really
flying through the water, her hair silver and gold and
red and green in the sun.


Who are the evil ones!? Why is Susanne in such a
rush? Will Cynthia ever find her pebble?



Chapter Eleven


"What are the evil ones?" Wade aks himself silently.

They follow Susanne's swiftly swimming tail back into
some tall blue seaweed. They have to hurry and swing
their flippers quickly to keep up. She's really
flying through the water, her hair silver and gold and
red and green in the sun.


"Susanne, I'm getting tired," Cynthia whined, flippers
tired.

"Quiet, child! Please!" Susanne hissed.

Ten minutes later they see a cave, glowing green with
phosphorescent algae. The entrace is small and
Susanne struggles to get the large of her tail inside.
Wade and Cynthia fit easily.

The cave is a glowing sculpture of stalactites and
stalagmites (pieces of rock hanging from the ceiling
and pointing up from the floor), just like in
above-ground caves. Each spike is glowing green and
pulsing. Cynthia has never seen such a thing, and
gasps.

She's frightened, but Susanne seems to relax.

"Feel the healing energy of the green sun," she says,
and pours them all cups of tea.

"Where are we, and what are we hiding from?" asks
Wade.

"This is my secret hiding place, the place where I
think, and no one has ever been here before but me,"
says Susanne, winking. "You should be honored."

Cynthia is still afraid, though, because the tea
tastes wretched and she misses her mom and dad. Slow
tears feel hot on her cheeks as she tries not to sob.
Wade comes over and puts his flipper around her
shoulder to comfort her.

"We're not in any danger here, Cyn," he says.



Chapter Twelve


Cynthia is still afraid, though, because the tea
tastes wretched and she misses her mom and dad. Slow
tears feel hot on her cheeks as she tries not to sob.
Wade comes over and puts his flipper around her
shoulder to comfort her.

"We're not in any danger here, Cyn," he says.

"It's going to be all right," Susanne sings. "There
is no danger here in the cave. We are hidden, safe
and protected."

Susanne launches into a little song, a lullaby.

"We are singing here, in the ocean,
We are safe here in the cave,
We are sitting here having tea
and it will be okay..."

Cynthia and Wade drift off to sleep on their kelpy
cushions.

They doze for what feels like three hours, but when
they wake up they are assured they can rest by
Susanne.

"We're safe here from the evil ones," she whispers.

Wade begins to worry in his sleep, dreaming fitfully
about large shadow fish who appear only at night and
can travel swiftly through the water without swimming.
They are all whispering to one another, like ghosts
or sheets flapping in the wind. Wade, in the dream,
strains to hear what they say to one another.



Chapter Thirteen


Who are the evil ones?

What is the real story behind Susanne and her Seven
Sisters, and is it a cheap take off of the little
mermaid movie, with the six sister all with names
starting with a's?


Wade begins to worry in his sleep, dreaming fitfully
about large shadow fish who appear only at night and
can travel swiftly through the water without swimming.
They are all whispering to one another, like ghosts
or sheets flapping in the wind. Wade, in the dream,
strains to hear what they say to one another.

"mush mush lipstack starch green yert meir," they seem
to be whispering. Wade leans closer, and see the
insides of their mouths glowing gold and green and
red.

Then he is jolted awake by the smell of the wretched
tea.

He is unfamiliar with where he is at first, groggy.

"Who are the evil ones?" he asks Susanne, who is
making a paste of some sort of seaweed for them to
eat.

"They are the dwellers of the deep," she replies,
matter-of-fact. "They swim faster than anyone else in
the reef. They are also the meanest creatures in the
ocean. They will destroy the reef if we don't protect
it. That's where my sisters and I come in."

"How?" asks Wade.

At this point Cynthia wakes up and begins to cry.
They've been away from home all afternoon.

"We sing with love, and repel all harm. Our stance in
nonviolence, but I'll explain more later. Right now
let's eat and see if we can get you two back home,"
says Susanne.

The paste is tasteless and green-orange in color, and
very thick and goopy like glue.


Questionnaire:

What do you like about the story?

What do you hate about the story?

What do you want to see more of?
Princesses?
Goblins?
Sharks?
Blowfish?
Stingrays?
Octopus?
Crayfish?
Beautiful maidens?
Ugly maidens?
etc!

Any ideas of where you want Wade and Cynthia to
explore?

Thanks!



Chapter Thirteen


Wade and Cynthia were tired and cranky by the time
they got home to their little rock home.

"That wasn't exactly the kind of adventure I had in
mind when we set out this afternoon," said Wade.

"I was trying to find my pebble and I found so much
more," said Cynthia.

Susanne left them a cryptic note when she left, tail
flashing gold, green red and silver in the sun setting
over their ocean world.

Wade read the note aloud:

"You have been chosen to help in the righteous battle
against the evil ones. If you choose to help, meet us
in the reef in two days at the setting sun, next to
the only orange kelp plant."

They were too tired to talk about it that night, and
though their mother had a strange concerned look in
her eyes, she didn't ask any questions before tucking
them in with their brothers and sisters under their
seaweed blankets and kelp beds. They were all green
and you could only see their little eyes poking out
before they dozed off.

Cynthia had a dream:

Cynthia is riding a large white seahorse and sees a
giant seacastle in the distance. It is so white even
the sun has trouble hitting it.

There are four towers and the entrance door is down at
the bottom. It's the largest building she's ever
seen: it's at least three or four times taller than
her dad and 25 times as wide. She has to look away
because it is so bright.

But she looks back again because out of the castle
flows a pink octopus with red suckers all over her
sixteen arms. She waves all sixteen arms wildly and
shrieks, "Cynthia Anne! It's been so long! I've been
waiting for you! It's so good to see you!"



Chapter Fourteen


In the distance they hear a rumble, a slow approach.
The sound of drums and low low beats. The family
wakes and rushes to the neighbors' houses to find out
what the commotion is. No one knows. What could that
low rumbling bumbling sound be?

There is a distinct beat, like a drum cadence. Bum
buh dah dah dum (quarter note eighth note eighth note
quarter note), bum buh dah dah dum, growing slowly
louder, closer.

Wade and Cynthia steal a glance at one another. In
each eye is a twinkle, thinking about the note Susanne
left them.

"Mommy, what's going on?" asks Cyril, the youngest in
the family.

"I don't know sweetie, but it's going to be okay,"
assured Mom.



Chapter Fifteen


"Mommy, what is going on?" asks Cynthia.

"I don't know, baby."

Wade begins to think the evil ones might be involved
somehow. He imagines they are red red crabs and all
have names beginning with z's. That's why they invade
your dreams.

"Attention all residents of Turtle Reef Suburb
Community!" shouts a loudspeaker held by the
fireturtle Marcus.

"Please remain calm as clams. This is a fire drill.
In the case of a real firewater emergency, this alarm
would alert you. As for right now, though, this is
just a test. We are still at code blue, meaning calm
as clams. Thank you for your cooperation. We
apologize for not giving much prior notice, but that
is how we have to test the alarms."

"Phew!"



"Please remain calm as clams. This is a fire drill.
In the case of a real firewater emergency, this alarm
would alert you. As for right now, though, this is
just a test. We are still at code blue, meaning calm
as clams. Thank you for your cooperation. We
apologize for not giving much prior notice, but that
is how we have to test the alarms."

Their neighbors Ray the sting ray and Velma the mussel
were there as well.

Ray said, "Well, what was that all about? Phew, I'm
glad it wasn't a real alarm. I just hate to think
about our beloved reef going up in firewater. When I
was a boy in our neighborhood across the ocean the
neighbors had a firewater accident, and no on
survived. I shudder to think about it."

Velma said, "You're right. I heard about this large
infestation of firewater down the street a few years
ago, and it was just dreadful. All these houses were
burned and so were the occupants."

In the morning the turtles were headed to sea school.
Wade and Cynthia walked a bit slower than the others
so they could discuss the note Susanne had left with
them.

"So, what do you think?" asked Wade.

"Well, as soon as I get my favorite pebble back I'll
be able to think better," said Cynthia.

Cynthia and Wade are on their way to school. They had
their breakfast of brine soup with oyster crackers,
and then got their backpacks and headed out the door.
Everyone was abuzz with talk of the false alarm the
night before.

"I think it was an attack on the government of Turtle
Reef," they overheard a clam telling an oyster.

Their school was full of clay to play with, with toys
of all kinds, and abacuses made of shells.


"Wade, I really need to find my pebble!" shouted
Cynthia half-way through the door to their school.
The other students looked over in alarm. They had
never seen Cynthia so upset.

"Sh!" shushed Wade. "We'll look for it at lunch
time."

School passed uneventfully. They had to complete some
sea math problems with their shell abacuses. It
seemed endless. Cynthia and Wade were in the same
class, and they could already do the simple addition
and subtraction in their heads. Would recess never
come?

Finally, after what seemed like oceans of years to
Wade and Cynthia, it was lunch time.

TO BE CONTINUED...

I want to know what’s going to happen next in turtle reef. Maybe the next thing that will happen will be a giant concernt with Susanne and her sisters. It will create energy that will be put in a special mush that wade and Cynthia will eat that will give them power that they will need to fight the evil ones. The mush will be the mermaids’ power all combined. The mermaids cannot directly fight the evil ones because they are allergic to the evil ones. The turtles are selected for their adventurous personalities, wits, and ability to not complain even under the worst of circumstances. It makes sense that Wade and Cynthia would be selected, because they both are young and ambitious. They will create fear in the hearts of the evil ones. Everyone at school will wonder where they have gone, and their parents will worry, but it will all come down to fighting the intolerance of the evil ones with love and an youngster’s naivete. The only other thing that needs to be wrapped up is what exactly are the evil ones. They may be snails of some sort or maybe barnacles would be good, because then it would make sense that they would infiltrate people’s homes and minds very slowly but surely send them into insanity. the barnacles are the evil thoughts of lies and especially intolerance. But how it all ends remains to be seen yet. The sunsets and rises underwater will be seen by the seven sisters, who will all help Wade and Cynthia in very special ways. The seven sisters help them realize that music can be a healing balm. Advice Suzanne gives them before they leave on their adventure reminds us all that perhaps later in the story they’ll need it to solve a puzzle. Maybe one of the mishaps will be to try to keep the barnacles from attacking to their shells and taking over a foothold in their brain. It would make sense that the barnacles would only be able to get onto the bodies first before invading their thoughts and brains.

Names

Liveable Solution
Sustainable Solutions
Sleek & Simple
Divine Design

What are gay scarecrows
made of? HA---AY!

Secrets & Lies
Slice of Life Solutions
Sleek Solutions

Illuminati
Luminescence
Design Concepts
Immobilarre Interiors

Design for All
Free Design
Freedom

Taste of Elegance
Cas El: Casual Elegance
Clandestine Interiors
Trifecta
Fresh Sparkling Water Interiors

Couched in Passion
Couched in Style

Warning: This is not a toy and is not intended for children under 8

Actually, yeah, this is a serious Fortune Telling Fish.

Place the Fish in palm
of the hand The movements
will indicate your fortune.
Keep Fish in envelope
when not in use

Place Fish in palm of hand,
its movements will indicate your fortune.

Moving Head..........................Jealousy
Moving Tail.........................Indifference
Moving Head and Tail...........In Love
Curling Sides.....................Fickle
Turns Over......................False
Motionless...................Dead One
Curls up Entirely............Passionate

Joan Mitchell's Sunflowers

I lavender to see something running through them, mouths open like lids, opening the act of having worried the canvas I love to watch, work. I raisin to see the red and yellow and green and blue and orange and it’s unlike anything I’ve done in color. Red is the sharp and bleeding, solar trips and odalisques. I've not can’t opaque anything being so fine. And to firework the center, a sodium layering. I want so badly to arrange for you the flowers on the wall, so beautiful I can’t keep myself producing, these scabs are ringing. Nothing is ever done, the door is shut and marbled, I want the fudge from out of the iron baby faces.

Floating the Clark Fork River

The book has been boo tigered, when will the feathers fall sallow, the shallow beds and the vociferous among us want to remind you there’s iron in your blood, a bitter tingle. I want to tell you about how I feel in my heart the loneliness, the way the blood tickles it with no one to share that sensation with. The loneliness of you being gone, the way sentences are wired and the way they wend their way past broken into new syntactical patterns worth eloping. I saw the way the water broke, the way your clothes sounded in the drier, and I wept about it. A robot wept. Thinking about ducks and connotation. Brash down, now noun.

streaming video

Let me at the darning iron, the daring
iron, I smell the results of that taco salad you had earlier.

My day’s just begun, I’ll bring
plenty of loaves of bread and so many white whales to the reception, I heard you were having a barbeque I wanted to have a chat with you outside,

I made so much small talk it was like an oven lighting, are you sure you’re going to be there, let it all right sold and controversial,
could you be sure to put that back on the cycle,

up in the shower all night, you can see how much else will we want to do, novels
and the fancy store front business model and if we could we’d love to tell you about it

even more I’m just looking for a snack I’m not looking for what you put in your bed in my bed when what you put in your bed made my bed young.

Harryette Mullen Muse & Drudge transom

dances with death, instruments------movie theater
dates spoiled and dusty/ bubble gum--------management
foil packets------extra Parmesan cheese
old wet sunk fun------I spent my time on your

black and blue, maples---------Gerald, Gerald
in wind, don’t change change dynamics--------slow, allargando
there are tired rings---------green rigs
eloping your waists and fingers------eloping your skinny skin

a body addressed-----------pumpkin -headed
‘dark-eyed flower’-----------Persephonistic
will you be my Austin Powers----------oh, dear
and lick me an envelope, please, dear---------dear, dear

poisoned lipstick----------cuttlefish monkfish
she fell for it----inky
red and red-----over again
muse music-------musk trunk it

themed sex-for-hire--------roil
rain on, angels!-------badger
body as instrument, breath has song-------lier
and tyres so quickly, so long-------wrong

first stanza sugared, a baking-------at stake
limped and tagged, a guitar------plucked fingers
razzing and riffing------oh, body of light remembered
gripping my lemonade strawside-----------innocence remembered

dost interest----------oh alphabetic enumerance
rhythm central, can I take off with you,------lyrical impulse, Gross, man
lift?-----------art
artifice----------tartly

‘dried millet a sign of hospitality’-----I offer wine
don’t be nervous, we’re---------together, open relationship-wise
right/ here----------cleft
here and there and here and there-------like etymological

a wedding---------bandied about
of rain and red--------like Mary Gaitskill
of body and head------where video
of ear and heart-------where video

three, then one good to worse---------bring my bladder its ken
there were three of us----------sleeping naked
two of us had cats to heal----------I’ll break your mullet
heel, lady, let us through and by-------wallet, whaling heart

constellations heal-----------oh blindness
their whitenesses against the sky-----glow-in-the-dark intersection
they are the abominations------a greening lily
against pure sky-----------my lily has become a night

pigfeet litany-------I attempt gusto
they taste great---------rage
sour my mouth----------to verbly inflect
with pumpkins---------new associations

reach back---------hang on , man
marginal limit-----------greening solder
you’re stuck, soldier---------green
singing----------singing, singing, sung

scalping----------here comes my mitt of blood
wine grapes’ blood----------and vinegar
they’re tried -----------tell me you don’t like pomegranates
so true-----------so true

origin so beloved and full, articulated large-----words are little diamonds
in clay skeins, grey-brown water stains----------I can tell you’ve been up for hours
slip silent, slick, wet rips-------------my blog has tens of thousangels
‘dense fabric that obeys its own logic’-----------I recreate your mnenosmoe

my hair bought grace------curling iron
honey slug wine tastes-------tell me how you take that
comb fleas please-----I’ll say anything
and open up to me----anti, ainit

whiting skin sours one------these colors serrate
the plural of mouse is meese-------oh boogladay
and please--------pleases pleases
the interest of stallions---------stallions snort rare silver transparence

typecast locked CAPS---------num lock boring
there were letter, alright----------tell me different
they were tearing through the night-----sell me water
on their way to day-----things to drift in

rolling a night, breaking or broken----ecstastic intention
and wrecked like junkies-----oh, past is past
on heroin----------like anything else could be addiction
pot pie dreams scallioned---------what are you wanting to eat there

oral sex junkie-----cum face lily tiger
pie crust scissors, ladles------oh and the nose hair
made raw honey-----ostentatious
and flours----having words listed is empowering, I want it

sun and wine------sublime time
win red shine--------orange lime
thin red line--------just in thin
it’s time------------trimmylineate

a women barren, peace allotted by piece----greek
she pees on the peas----------french greek
she sees seeping -----fenugreek
please sleep------leeks

smart spelled unvoweled---------wormtail dungeonsex
sly rhymes tricky me---------your name was khalid
crows in moonlight-------I know it was a mistake to call me
sound black------this is why I don’t keep phones or numbers close

married or marred--------marigold and their predecessors
across thin lines--------wed the line
tight bits------------constrains me
no small shits---------plural moonings

machines and needles needed kneading----------on gripping sinkface
the dust pins me----------oh, so gravid
into allegory-------------loud gorged penis
I’m sin--------------look head too hard

‘end of story morning-glory’------------oh, pic
your love is white-------why is it so serrating
but I am not-------maybe not intentionally
hates off to you-----------jumping bean flan

articles of cultural lust---------whether bear
what isn’t free-----------beer is free for those
restraint never is------------paper plates
bottles pour what lacks butter------de basic Englisch

travel, slippers, children form secrets---------dough
then break them, shrieking---------we’re boyfriends now
spell me! spell me, dust!------------creation myth
nap on my hair--------------am I there

I’ll construct a new cabin for you--------carbonation
if you mean to me----------poker
speakers emitting memes--------okay, melon seeds’ description
building takes more skill than killing------------humm

who is the carpenter?------------not your effigy
solemn embouchures or-------french horn lips
hand-slap games----------whenin church kiss the deacon politely
rejected boy games’ correction---------fields from dancing

what’s your favorite----------ham
meal--------------what’s my favorite
‘churchy’----------response
that’s no answer-----------lef han tur o red

heroin/ blue/ phonemenal-----racing
I’m single and sun-filled---------your bought flute
shapes--------diamond frills
I will be-----------willing

green eyes lit---gargoyle distraction
full unslit-------want wandsout
she’s blonde ‘n friezed-------stout like frieze
don’t do-rag------the names for collage for artful treat

death bin-----------having bin German
comin’ around---------------essen, trinken, blinken, nod
I’ll ache through----------------the theme is desire
wool sweater---------------desire unmitigated

can’t you touch through-------you brought your backpack
I’m here, in here---------and your smile your east coast
der Spiel--------will it rouse itself
that first time----type, typo you used to date my roommmate

‘is his sis Isis’------------this has nothing to do with the cat
voyeuristic lip stuck----lips
on open------my eye
window--------is pigment

when I heard the dream I told it-----my name is steven
it had you in it too-----desire is wanting to name
and you were wearing my coat----rub your winter bunting
I love you-----------frenzy was so soporific

number four a tour------I brought myself to the front of carbon
virginal elocutions------no, hydrogen
driven through countries-----no, theaters
threat of cancer------------no, denial

embrace power----horace hears a whom
honest emblems------I’m refined
re-presentation unmarred INRI------because I heard Christ was a dolltoy
warning unbottled-----and believed

me to you and back; key-------------jump
figurine slum plump------sticker
stoles and stopwatches-----American Eastern Coastal English
arranged in time tight tipping---------I’ve lived here

white sin sheets----------white shit
smooth rubbin’------------stain white saint
exuberance not just suggested-------white satin
I’ve been home--------at most in New Orleans

anger at ex uneloquent-----------Latin derivatives, where
HALT-------would we be without you
writing in cock------create a shocktreat
‘mules and drugs’ exciteable chic-------bleat

god bold ‘ odd----------transformers, muskrats in
cosmological cosmetic---------disguise
skinny fragment-------what expectations are set up
bless ghosts, acts of death---------I don’t know who’s viewed me here

three unrefereed-----------try wrapping that in skin
intelligence, language framed-------nothing wet
female Messiah-------nothing wrapped
what comprises giving?-------nothing in boiling water

endwork------------------j countries
refer hat---------knip
scalpal monkey--------kippers, dodge
brain------snog my face off

aneurysm --------blood-brain barrier
superhero-----heroin blood grain blearier
flit star--------fit stander
orgasm’s jouissance----------!

Upon reading Muse and Drudge by Harryette Mullen and then writing, and then coming back later and writing

music, fruit, I taste it-----so flight is ribbon, then?
an outside silence-------alarming and round
I can taste-------------and rip, tassle, round, round
can you taste it?------------can you ersatz it, erase it.

Is this in accentual trimeter?--------------asking about something else, not you, dear.
men are kind on my eyes--------------womble the new wyrd
they are sugar fiending-----------if I slip on a peal of laughter accost me
name me------------------stain me

‘I dream a world/ and then what’---------so what if I’ve taken blunt
Articles dream of language, of---------gargle months later
being part of a team--------------reams of split vowels
what I mean by funky, funk-------a split skirt, kninfinitive

long luscious last line---------harper, laid, plea
color is cold, frozen------------frozen in skies
and it comes after desire---------glows rows in the dark
I smell the tides lapping-------catch me if canning

personify my evil------------too many directions
as a change in direction--------when don’t my eyes catch on the next line
bottles remain liquid in liquid------to reteach myself how to reach
loco and clothed-----------too red, to read

physical abuse like that book in New Mexico-------------hush that up, bump itunder beiges
about fear----------lifted cloth
steel-secluded woman, caged flutter-----if I could dip myself a cheese
aurally induced love--------horn, horn haurn

movement is vibration is sound------okay, physics
noise----------round
building stories of sound with words-----wombly
I see accentual trimeter and dimeter (some tetra)---hex ACTE
no punctuation other than the stanza and----and and and and and

line breaks what are less formal ways to punctuate----stilt
‘battered like her face…-----and and aural and anal
with hammer and nail’-----split letters into worlds
she tells it on a mountain-------cold moon, brink of check

using her own body as voice box----judgment
the back of the mind catches----arraign
minnows of worry----you fort the fodder, forget the key
blonde is bad------mirrors, worse

slant words are almost expected---oh, rose!
a b b a rhyme scheme----oh, rose!
we are the band, you dance----oh, let it ring
‘monkey wrench nuts and bolts’-----build my pipe a trauma

we’d wanted waffles to happen here, darling----MARYLAND
and turn on the eclectic----stumble grunt
machinic whirr of kittens’---stipulation here, no litter, sip
purrs------purrs

we love Etta James-----unornery
I overhear genocide-----it was next door
India fills with mango weather----reuse is the floor
swell----flood.

Japanese, dishes of Shinto----bells
‘humble materials hold/ vestiges of toil’---all names begin with taco
I’ll be in underwear---beguining
down under ducks---hotly

in tune----hot
in time----hurt
in turn-----holt
in rhyme-----gene massey

throats slick with death---forget addiction
cigarettes----smoke cliche
I smell the smoke---the smell of smoke checking
through grim-----name puns I couldn’t

‘get right with Godzilla’-----this is taken from you too
last stanza zams-----jam jelly jam
zozzle and the library------zyzzazza spells itself wrong
coloscoping on a nozzle------sigmoidoscopy use plenty of lube

women, sounding----------green
iron kettles, pots------------silver
black black black black-----black
black black black------------stolen

la muerte is death, right?--------aight
the sign I saw with the white-----signs
painted teeth-----------electronic shift
did you see them shin the black light----?

good taste is different from great------hunger differentiates
you were up late-----too many minutes long
to making do-------market share
raging in step in sleep------free

I don't think we're going to find anything there, to be honest with you

Open the barn doors. Entice.
Proximate scent, calla lily wet
with plaint. Muzzle rip it off! Trials
are absconding with my verdigris, eruptions uncanny, man a dreamsprung
cloud, wet with light. With touch.

Erudition the restriction I draw your touch against the couch of my thigh, beige-boned and nasty with stain. Satin your touch your face a springboard for wet dreams, twigs care brownly along the stream, how you feel your touch a bed of spring loam gorging wet.

A bed of down, white wool feathers, things we’ve constructed nestily. Rub my minions, they’re tickled you’re hearing me, duck feathers, wings, wind my noose with clouds.

Bonobo
Claw-faced rug-burned prostitute
Titillation

manicure my nails because they’re wrecked
Zero experiment, could we live without gravity, without the consent of the dead
ripple imaginary drink, imaginary glass, wave to the camera obscuring my heard
head downy black hair, fur, fuzz, otter-slick (I want a raccoon, I want an article, I want a beaver to draw my face in lake, I want salt, I want moon, I want triple plays, I want three in a row, I want fifteen, give me something in German, phlegm)

If I were a moon would you jibe with me—
if we were along among oranges?
Phases, the months could silver the sea

of clouds above trees
heavy with oranges—
if I were that moon, would you rhyme with me,

dream
a year of orange
hummingbirds thrum with moonflower oils
bees suck lilies, stamens trill with orange
to ply their bodies free to silver dust motic




++++++++++++++++++++

a tomato stomach bitter with yearn
I remember breathing a laughter raw
on my eardrums, bone still
-I couldn’t believe you were in that urn-
I remember to strew flowers, what size and color
I don’t know sun on rocks all soaked with praise

+++++++++++++++++++++

Warm litter box filled with treats, I create a cake based on cat litter
and Oreo cookies. Castor oil, metal overcold, braids, grainy imagistic
memory. My memory tries to overwhelm you. You always
wanted silence.

Silver freefall!!
Metal sing!!

She’s Atta Try, of SuddenLove.com

“Addicted to porn?”

“This time
so sudden—
you’re in love.”

“Your jaw hurts, watching.”

“This is love,
now’s the time.”

“Will it be different this time?”

What expectations are set up
and dashed by quotations, lines?

“Or is it?”

“Can you commit? Is this rose any different?”

“let love
bare your chest, it’s sudden
death, so ask
her
out!”

“Stop that ridiculous crying.”

“Please just get her information off the website.”


And stars enact tin voices for your shine


A garden in acorn season. The farm is thick with color—a rainbow of Swiss chard. An apricot falls. Who sees it or the clematis white against the house
or the tine of grapefruit moss.

We harvest wild chard. Snow tires descry curved sours of metal. Tuck me in. Rub your song of stilted metal on thin metal bunting. I hear

even elms pine.

+++++++++++++++++

Fish Tastic Phrenetic

mush

trumpet

wart

blown

rapture

sinkhole

germaphobe

latent

flautist

pianist

asterisk

risk

trick

sticker

word

green

horn

trumpet

trumpet

horn

trumpet

green

whore

trumpet

tickle

fiber

green

whore

trumpet

horn

horn

horn

green

fleece

argument

trumpet

Argonaut

trumpet

rump

sticker

asterisks

melodious

flaunt

ripe

warble

trumpet

trumpet

whore

green

trumpet

allow

aloof

allowance

whore

trumpet

slate

trumpet

whore

green

articulation

slither

whore

slither

grenadine

slim

tree

slim

green

trumpet

sheen

melodious

whore

melodious

sheen

stick

stick

stick

trumpet

stick

whore

stick

green

green

whore

stick

green

green

trumpet

trumpet

whore

whore

melodious

melodious

whore

whore

whore

beat

tube

two

beat

whore

whore

whore

whore

musket

whore

green

tree

sigil

wire

sigil

green

gabardine

stick

stick

whore

tree

green

articulation

melody

slam

fist

trick

whore

trick

whore

green

whore

stipulate

stipulate

stipulation

whore

melody

green

basket

bed

triple

wire

green

whore

trumpet

trumpet

trumpet

whore

I want to pretend

bobcats in college

range is the subject

we should study together

we'll lick one another clean

pretend we're bonobos

rapt and hairy

bobcats are we sure we need college

we'll make collage of the prey

we'll instinct

Slam My Flash Is Brink

Wanting the Gun to Speak, startle theater, Wasteridden new Movie
found your wool again, Cheeky, Warbler, synthetic trailer:

your voice was bitter with water, announcement made, (images made clearer through glaze)
you sat, tickets sold, were many of us your sisters,
all of us were ticketed for the performance, the dance, (my ceramicist therapist was always offering me clay, I couldn’t resist, the way it made my hands feel, my skin)
the music, the light, gingerbread men on parade.

Council if trumpets could reel (Bakery-level bread, I’ll offer you some basil-soaked oil and salt and three crushed peppers to soak, to soak)
the steering was here to denounce one another
to the chickadee feature editor (new names are crops of want)
who couldn’t glance around the musket, to see your flask
astride your face. Couldn’t ask you to line a tram (slam my finger back into joint)
with litter, cat out for the wetting. Rumstrangle, I could

hardly have met you without wanting artists.

The reflection of your fence in the puddle made

from all the city’s sprinklers running all night, my cat would love to drink from your face. The image I create is what she would want to drink from, my face

is linked to your name and the way the relationship ended was not bad, I would find you eating sushi, my carbohydrates forget what else is in the fridge, we’ll

spin something tighter, you knew how to sew, we’re not talking much now that you live in Seattle and I live over here in the behind the trailer park neighborhood

with one bright mural but everyone knows it’s a bad neighborhood, the abandoned ice cream truck that no one sells drugs out of because I live here, my futon, my cat,

my cat needs to eat, she’s got plenty to drink, when we broke up it was no hard feelings but I’ve been drunk for how many days, I’ll wonder what you’re doing, I lost my phone, it’s there in the puddle, I’m outside your house how did I get to Seattle,

oh wishbone of my face I’ve lost my cat and my shame is licking another puddle of tears that were caused not by the sprinklers being so consistent but by your being so kind to me though we’re done.

Power Bottoms Make Requests

And what if we had met in New York City, passed on the street, it's not unfeasible, it's necessary to acknowledge we've walked the same streets, prowled the same thrift stores, woken within kilometers. I've always wanted to be a British tourist. A power bottom, the active section in the T.J. Maxx where they sell my brand of underwear. I'm wearing someone else's this morning to bed. Tied in red. Red desire is repetitive. Accretion, selection, sigils on my feet. Miss Monica on the bed beside me, my new sheets, the highway through my window, Mount Sentinel, western Montana, governor upset about palladium, new, marathon, road racing, lust, stampede, Pamploma, martian art appears on all the telescopes, when were you in the city, lust, when were you opening words like cans of tuna, those websites I want to read about how poetry is becoming a small, tart, clotted cream, open orifice, open sesame seed king. But really, we must have been there, geographic, vicinity, mapping, arranging perception like kings. King me.

Found in errant notebook

Pape workshop

next time meet at the Old Post

Richard Hugo Archives in the library

Richard Hugo House

Chris has a friend there

community workshop

Emily

follow up on this

bring our finished chapbooks

'the artist's job is finding out what will suffice' Wallace Stevens

summer 1998

Marie is long-dead

1992-1998

six years dead

eighteen years old

Grant

mania

smokes a pipe

rap music

Harrisburg State Hospital that's why he's offstage

I work at Wendy's

16 years old

(Frosties)

Lauren is fourteen

too young to be an angel?

How is Dad represented?

religious

pipe-smoker

lawyer

ungrieved mother

unacknowledged grief

when he got out he was on Lithium

worked at Burger King

Death

Hospital

E blue
D pink
G orange manic
L purple
J white b/c colorblind
M purple gray

Edmund protector of wealth
Donald world ruler
Daniel God has judged
Lionel young lion
Leonard strong or brave as a lion
Sylvester of the woods
Rufus red, red-haired
Thomas twin

Alva white
Beryl green bluish green yellow pink or white hexagonal prisms
Iris rainbow
Dolores sorrow
Flora goddess of flowers
Leila dark as night
Mildred gentle strength
Olive
Ruby

Gray dead
Blue depressed
Red reactionary
White color-blind
Orange manic
Purple bruised

R+B purple
B+Y green
R+Y orange

yellow=mental disease, light
abnormal reactions to light

blue (depressed)+yellow=green disinterested

Should they have names or just colors??

White as Quaking Aspen?
gray=gumdrop eater
white=reformed gumdrop eater
purple=a mountain beyonds/narrator

stone begets ice begets fire
orange white purple=fire

Red=warm, loving
overprotective

estuary=place between sanity and insanity

Bees three green bees
blue + white + purple adds to green

Drone Song

Red at stanching duty

You are Red

RED-RED
GREEN-BLUE

white one bee
purple one degree
white + purple in the hive's insistent heat

PURPLE=mountain and sun

Yellow=sex object
Yellow=insanity
Yellow=buttercup

ORANGE + BUTTERCUP?
OR PURPLE + BUTTERCUP?

PURPLE takes a lover:
* PURPLE + YELLOW = BROWN

Geriatric Dinner

Introduction How characters operate
in order of appearance

Describe costumes,
or lack thereof
characters are naked

scene one

Color [Another Color]

2nd person you or
3rd person he/she

the transformation is that Orange takes a lover

14 sonnets

ROYGBIV

a crown of sonnets?

the upstairs avengers

my eyes kept catching
on (the scarp of) his body

When I write long songs I will create them out of others’ books of poetry, in this case from Refuge by Belle Waring

He’s got me thinking of cucumbers as “earth-apples.” Eytmological heart-digger, I want to be a ringer. A tide has dropped me on the faux shore. On the gold-dug shore, on the want of something neat. Broken windows, wings, open the weather eye above me, gentle bird of prey you’ve taken my best friend’s puppy. Loud, this is problem poetry. Too gentle, too unwrought, too muscular, I found myself cumming all over your edges. I found myself lapsing into harmonics, vibraphones hung with chandelier-shaped ears.


I’d like him to hold me until we both fall for doctors. Because, though we won’t get married, he’ll become a successful clinical psychologist. Thank God I’ve already eaten, Goldfish and whole plain yogurt and a banana. My scar is through healing, it’s wanting its own Lifetime special. Grainy pornography, how you make me want. I saw black and white cookies, frosting, glaze, ceramics in your bedroom. A glass of milk is craving our mouths. Wanting to plural its hormones in us, I want to drink your infanticide right out of you, I’ve wanted inheritance too long.


To remember you is a shot of bourbon
too soon. I forgot to drink myself to death, who knew? You took my bedsheets and drowned your little dog in them. I never knew you had a little dog, the little grave, a gavel I gave you for Christmas so you could better judge me, our outfits unwittingly coordinating. I bless myself in Hamilton, Montana with being cruised by a just-out-of-jail youngster and his mother, shopping in the thrift store. So many gays in such rural places.
So they catch me—Who cares? You should see the smile on my face, and the grin on his dick, the chocolate kiss. O the round apple flight I cut the rump with a taste of sasstacicity. Green apple, dun almond, rope and flight and trumps.


Breeze steps out for a crack of cold air off the street and realizes its done being bitch to smoke. Done being the landslide no one remembers, election year hazy from all the mustard. I wanted to click on you, hard as pavement, smooth as warm sand. I had texture all over you, my skin cracked in want. I have long longed for you, your warmth, your sand the hand you hold above me, vowing to crash.


When the old man made Kays eat her name, I told myself naming was out of the question. Who am I to tell Adam he should be Jacob, how Biblical we all were, naming and capitalizing ourselves. If we were German all our nouns would be uptight and so tall, so brown with histrionics, I sought crime, I sought the Nazi background of my ancestors, I just want to know if my grandparents were considerate. I hope the ground swallows up whatever pleasures I can’t absorb, knowing how hungry I am for color. Knowing.


Last winter the birds dropped frozen colorblind, socked a whisper I pleasured myself on the pleather cloud couch. The blue heron was watching me from my bedroom wall, my cat gratified herself beside me, nothing storms like the sage of the rain, I brought myself to the wall of my heart and it was beating without me, without you, for me, for you, for the tires we sought to drive one another terrible wild and gutty.


Isabel tried to warn me, to tell me in my dream that we were shattered. We could never allow one another peace. So we left one another, I took west, you east, and we split the country like an almond, we sat down in our respective carriages and sought. I sought my heritage by running as far away from it as I could, my memory bad enough to remain unspecific. The morning was rueing itself in my hair, the hands of crossing the hands of tired melody, the grog of morning was gutting my mouth, frazzing and rounding and laving mad.


Breeze has a neighbor who’s real hot
though I’d never believe it coming from her. Everyone knows Breeze is a terrible lier. Remember when we were in New York at the same time and didn’t know one another yet? That was terrible, too. We were in the same book store, even, though maybe not on the same day. I know something’d been wrought there. Your footsteps are warm on my brainpan.


Last time you woke up pregnant and it was a dream, induction to the hall of mirrors.


Only a slug would read without the required salt. The rest of us need scrambled. The rest of us need eggs.


For years I have been depressed enough to tell you it didn’t matter when my friend wrote book after book about boots. I told you it didn’t matter when I was shot in the gut with my feelings. When I was accused of martydom, accused of my own rage and pent-up killing. A sprain went up in the gut when communication faltered.
It always falters.


When nine planets queue up in Scorpio this book is out of date. There are only eight planets now, though more moons are discovered as we speak.


They roll their eyes when I walk in. Late. Though space and time don’t really exist. We’re both here now, an illusion. Can we elude to sex through a long space, through bodies that have never existed together, the way I fucked Beethoven as reward for his Ninth. Don’t plaster me with chivalry.


You smell of ginger root and sage, and I want to lick you until you smell like bubble soap, like carbonation, like salt spray after a summer beaching. I want to want to want to memorize your caw.


This morning an asteroid just missed
our torture. If we could arrange a fire,
would we?

When I write long songs I will create them out of others’ books of poetry, in this case from Refuge by Belle Waring

Tyler scuffs oak leaves to frisk fog of its warmth. No fog is this warm without sexual undertones. I wrought iron for you, my laughter a chain of its former mirth. What did we catch there in metal, our glands are hard like rot. But when we take the good salt, we lick one another without expectation. Take your pill, love, don’t justify yourself without it. I’m out of rust, here, I’m clean, my room is Pillsbury dough, when we made something with the gorge of plums. Tell me about what you smell when I cum.

You smell like castile soap, thin and still wracked with sobs. Oh, cliché, I thought I told you, dun horse, I want to eat you. I gave your words a blowjob, when you missed me, I can’t help but make distance wise, the time I ran the city without shoes, who brought me my sandals, my best friends miss church for you and me to marry, we wed our sins, we sing our cum from mouth to mouth. I’ll open my Pandora for you, sweet heart. Deep peace. Clean breach.

Breeze can hear claws scrape the walls of the pot. The pot asking the kettle for more thyme. Though we both know no one has thyme this season. It’s out of fashion. It’s me cooking myself a carrageenan-filled dextrosities.

The teachers churned into the nave of the church, like penguins, like gay razzles rattling. I want to bring my memory for you, front it, puff it up, my shirtsleeves are filled with the arms that long, round and long and wet and sandblasted.

The adults are getting desperate. They want adult entertainment, they want to watch.
That experimental chemo—I knew I couldn’t make a joke here. It was a close death, none of us could survive one another without trial. I want to show you my grief like a lost rock, the way I see it years later all smooth from the water you descried. The munchings of time. Plastic will survive all of us.

Seventy-five feet over the water, what stops you from jumping, bridge to the floor, at least you’re dying in nature, not inside some plastic bubble room, not inside the mind that refused to shut off, the work that I believe you are engaging, I saw two heterosexuals fucking across the street from my AA meeting at the Quaker meeting house, I wanted to play basket ball with their bodies, my face was red with sadnessing.

It was boss cook’s fault. He left my mother hungry, not my father, we all forget how to communicate with our families, I forget to tell my family that I am alive, that I’m round with want, that life has called itself my home, that the mountains are green and hazy, the sun is singing warmth and rain blesses water, the Clark Fork, the Bitterroots, the sage I saw in Idaho you can smell it raw after a hard rain.

The cops don’t care if he was in Nam. Narrowing my eyes I hate the war again. I like to tell negative emotions to curl up inside and allow themselves to create. I have never succeeded. I am always raw and healing, I am always a cut apple.

Shrapnel lives in Morton’s neck, so his head stays loping like a deer. The emu meat you gave me went stale in so much heat, tennis elbow you can’t cut it out hungry, your hunting mean and startling. Starling, swallow, Greek salad for me. I can’t get the smell of your cum out of my mouth, my jaw is a white-line for you, can I look up and attract your orgasm, attach it to my memory.

My father’s gone so I’ll break
the line, I’ll break the party into thirds, I’ll break my skull for you, I’ll let my father’s death be premeditated, when X talked about her father’s suicide I survived my own grief, when does sun break through the clouds, why do we call some things beautiful and toe others into petty.

Me and Marlene sit tight in her truck, waiting for the rain. I want to see that cigarette smoke curl into me, you and your cat make me miss all my dead ones. The feet I stand on are black with walking.

When I write long songs I will create them out of others’ books of poetry, in this case from Refuge by Belle Waring

If you walk through the fog and wind up
dead don’t blame you. Everyone knows fog
is hurting. Everyone knows fog is full of himself,
Jump back. It’s Morley and he knows a good fog when he sees one,
along the Pennsylvania turnpike, home from college, show me your
Blue Mountain. I’m under the hill, over you, bawl me a chorus.
I stepped in front of a dump
and bought it a drunk. Too many of us at the bar, buy me
an apartment, Daddy, and call me Sylvie.
Whack of panic: What if the boy
forgets the condoms! What is the remedy for what if. It used to be song,
now it’s randomization, it’s hits, whatever sort of addict must I be
to bring you back into this. Lift the veil, we’re all depressed.
Rust. Gold. Sand. Thank everyone for their contributions
to the world of poetry words. I don’t know what poem I could write
without them. Sarcasm will get me no where. I’ve never been a comedic
poet like Dante. I stare at myself in the page, I wrote all last night and sparked
myself awake. Stay the coffee stains with maze.
You wore a clean white shirt and I wrote on it in permanent marker
every time you swore you’d stop cheating. I never believed you
but for your sake I pretended. Miss Monica full of chiggers and I pretended.
“It’s the combat zone,” the cop said, a Portuguese flair to his voice.
I begged him to tell me nothing, the truth a blast of butter popcorn I’d soaked
with too much sugar, ruined. My cat was dead. My cat is dead.
The café with the hotwire website domain name was telling me more important
news was happening, I’d stepped on too many baristas to be served. This was after
we got sober. This was after our tumultuous love bar. I serve no one now.
My life was the moment when the train breaks period. The dot on the snow
millions caught blood. Engineers in the machineroom of blood.

When I write long songs I will create them out of others’ books of poetry, in this case from Refuge by Belle Waring

Not morals. Manners. Grist for the guests. When they armed with me with reasons to send them away. They drank all my beer. They fucked my roommates. They created sub-par art. No such thing. I drank with them. They told me I had cocaine eyes. They were always allowed to stay. Stay as long as you want.

To visit takes an escort: Lolly,
they used to call my sister, not that she was ever classified as a guest. People like her, I wouldn’t say “too much.” When we run from bulls together, let’s be great. Let’s get all the poetry awards and make mockeries of them. No, let’s pretend we’re married to each other’s husbands, if I found a husband I would give him to you, I want to write your poems. I would like to suck them off, how easy is sex in the wake of language.

I’m frankly shocked to be this hard, this early, usually it takes about nineteen minutes and the xanax to kick in. No, the pollen. I wanted to be shocked and there wasn’t much that could shock me outside language. What makes me breathe, there is nothing as involuntary as song.

“The nurses said No Flowers.” Flowers make some people cry, they are allergic to the bloodsex for pollination, what if bees were allergic, we’re allergic to bees and peanuts and shrimp, thank the gentle goddess for what we create. Owing my mind to the plants that I ate on the way to evolution, could the cycle include small minnows. No, minnows. Regular-sized minnows that were fed to me when I was a goldfish. Didn’t I mention my minnowness to you. You could see my size or where I was but never both at the same

When I write long songs I will create them out of others’ books of poetry, in this case from Refuge by Belle Waring

If your first memory was the arms of your father allowing you to be a nurse, when you grow up with alcoholism don’t tell me your sad story, I’ve got no more tears to spend, I am crystal thin and vulnerable, creating holes in stories, my memory mind a net to tear, I reach across my father to my mother, hold me I tell her, she writhes away from obligation, too many to feed, I can’t rake near you, mow the yard, who is German, tell me my ancestry, arrange the Japanese classics lessons for me, I want to learn language with you, I taught myself to read so early to escape from my father being gone, from gongs ringing to cover loneliness, the loneliness of children remembers itself years later as obsession, I cleaned your house and your toilet still got dirty, I forgot you were in love I forgot how tender love could be unlike a bruise no one sees

tries a nosedive, kamikaze, jets and dishwashing liquid all over the kitchen, domesticating memory, arranging the clogs along the front of the room, my apartment is a kitchen dedicated to being baked, back me up, the wall is a chair ridden place, an apartment is something small to clean and to bake, back me up, the wall is cheering, a cherry slut is a bread I am baking, smell my apartment, its caulked for winter, don’t tell me I’m in love with selfishness, I knew my ex-boyfriend would be along too soon

Me, I like to putz in the kitchen and regard myself as a mirror wall you created, I want to slaw myself out like a purple lettuce slaw, bring me ingredients, let me create something for you, let me allow myself to pretend myself a mother, I’m here in fifteen states, love the word for you, the grading begins, let me see your garden, our yard is sprouting, lend me your hose, I’ve got to evaluate, put it on, your neglect like an apron I can’t undon

walking east. It’s hard to forgive the horizon when it’s so hot. Hard to be here and hot with you when my memory is filled with alcohol. I rank myself as the hot confession, you saw how tedious repetition is when you don’t know the images. When I back up against the hot oven, I canned the sun, pineapple or skinned peaches, tell me does skinned mean with or without?


Today I walked here and became bored in my own words, I had to dip my face into yours and became bored with yours but ours together like a clabbered crabmeat feast had promise. If I grab you too quickly surprise me with knowing why. I can’t tell myself why too many times, from your mouth my grin spills.

babies twist in their mothers’ arms. The men forget how quickly wounds heal.

What gives—this morning the sun ceases to please and I fog myself out with prescriptions written to others. I never went to pharmacy school, medical school, law school, my only profession is warming you. I I I I I I I I I I I I am a cursor on my own screen, how amazed am I. Trick pony in my mouth, I became the news item when did I bore myself with digging. Tarp wet with all the watersports I watched, could I ignore language when the moon created the first letter. The way I research language and alphabets someone told me that trees and other natural shapes became letters, I don’t believe. I see the shapes of letters as being easiest to form, only easy languages survive.

is waking up flung cold across nothing like tile. a laminate, a Greco-roman coin, a passing of hands, a smoke through hands, the hands that wrought my being, my parents, where you live is green, and humid, mug me with thought, I can’t image all my poems, they’re too blinky, too bright and I squint at you/at them/