so friday  nite i was working
in the yard and i ran across that plant
you gave me, in the flower box
where i threw it two frosts and a drought ago.

my roomie said don't hate on the plant
he gave it with good intentions.

i watered it, the leaves were a bit
curdled from the heat. the poet said when
this flowers again, he will call me. the scientist
said there you go again, believing in portents and when
it flowers you will wait for him and when
he doesn't call you will cry8         \
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buckets of tears. yes but
then maybe i will stop waiting
 for him open
for some one else.

 and there it drops. but wasn't
it the very next day we rode
to ft desota where the sand dollars
were browning just under the water

and it made me see the future where
the oil coats all the sweet sand cuz momma's
been ripped open and her blood is black
her blood across her flowing face, her always
moving face, her blood in shit shaped
globs bobbling thru the tides , riding the currents
gliding on the big loop to bring the gloop
home to everyone touched by the bowl .



)



the fly thinks it's my friend now, having
flown the airways in my giant mutated airstream
for three days. i don't have the strength to chase it
down to kill it, so it taunts me, dive bombing
even as i type. budha's lesson is you think  you're sooooo zen.
what about now?












()**










you rub my back, at the hip
because i have pain. analgesiac mountain.
the sea always turns me on. waves as glints
of sun /always a breeze caressing , photons burying
themselves in the skin. the fly wants to star in the poem.
pleasure pleasure islands in the fun. waking up
is so hard to do.




out of your bed and into the bathroom, agony
of morning. stiff muscles, trained for pain. i check the email.
he has written me. four times he wants
to talk he finally wants to talk so i


go back to your bed it's too early in the morning for this.
when i get up again, there is no pain.



yeah, we talk . agree to meet. today. tonite. whatever
just for a grin i go outside and look closely at the clematis
there is small, tightly covered green bud, at the center,
looking exactly like a beginning.