budhabong n chaos

budhabong is stretchin his legs
across the leopardprint sheet. chaos
lays in her mother's arms, tyin to sleep
when one plops on the other pushing
her off the nipple. a fight ensues. mom
just leans back, closes her eyes.

you tell me you can tolerate cats and dogs
but you don't own either. i begin to berate you
for the things your child is missing.
i have to stop myself. i don't even know you.
ok, so i'm bossy. i didn't grow up with 35 cats
and fifteen dogs in a three bedroom house
that had paths thru the hallways around
the shit no one had the strength
to pick up. cat piss is enervating.

we agree to one day smoke pot together
if we can get around to meeting
for a drink. i like your idea of east
coast getaways in the summer.
o wait. that's my idea.
here take it.

my gramma was a navy wife. i have
a handkerchief to prove it, so we have
about 3 degrees of separation and several
trines to discuss. i forget if they're
beneficent or boxy. i'm thinking
out of the box is where i want to get to.

i read the tarot, cuz i must. it's
an addiction now, my only free one.
but i won't read the spread i really want
to read. i'd rather be surprised
like i was when i reached out
to touch the curve of your neck
and the line of your jaw
as if you were standing
right here, instead of all the way
into a new poem that has yet
to be written.