had it become the desert stormy little window plastic

the face was targeting me

I put pens in things so that I do not lose my place

oh beautiful trapper

schedules of fruit today

to feel strange asking to let you know everywhere in these small North Carolinas

I couldn't

I was too sad

even in dreams

impulsivity and who is going to pay my bills

sprout for me pornographic fantasies

beyond the sun is a Cheshire cat and a thin ghost with its hand across its forehead

though I'm glad the men make a field trip of going to pick up the bleachers

end the season

what are some of the things I love about Laporte, Pennsylvania

fireflies on a summer night

the sweet smell of ferns

no tv

the sound of the Loyalsock

newts

deer feeding on blueberries at dusk

I love all the spiders here and the way the forest looks at dust

I love moths and flies and dragonflies

I love the dianthus and the day lilies and the fresh asparagus growing in the backyard

going barefoot

the sounds of the bullfrogs at night

the birds all day long

eating meals on the wrap-around porch

fresh flowers on the table

sweet corn and plums

tomato and cucumber salad

I love blueberry and peanut butter sandwiches

the cool mystery of the forest even at noon

brooks springs and wells

the smell of the land after rain

we had corn and went for a walk to catch the sunset like sherbet before it melted

a butterfly a photogenic one at that

Mom's junk was everywhere but my junk was everywhere too

hot day salad: baby spinach, red pepper, tomato topped with pomegranate juice and olive oil

it's red to beat the heat

words are bloody lipprints

eggshells make the best and shiny coffee

it rubs your teeth the wrong way

Mom how many men do you think your daughter has slept with

and your son

what did you think we were doing on all those sleepovers

sit down and be a troop

doctor's orders that I fatten up a bit

about our dad

I find myself being the harsh judge of what a father should be

about your near-miss was it with the law or was it more a debacle in personal hygiene planning

there was an island village and on it were some faeries named Thelma Rose and Hodgkins

give them juice

they look famished

I really wanted like a seashell to reinvest in myself

the joys of paranoia

to be gay in a small town

it's a strangle

without one another the nap before the storm

I always feel like I have to have funny stories to offer up as though my presence was not enough