fuji storm center (sans gekki san)

the  last  cold f ront before easter
rains on  the yard  sale , plans  for outdoor
dancing tonite,  a  bedful of daisy  sprouts.
we push the  limits of jigsaw puzzles
then play  power games so you'll know
my  meaning of  no.

thunder shot  keeps us  indoors
excusing  the lazy  pileup  of toys
in the  corner.  how i want to straighten
them up. how you can sit there doing
absolutely nothing with cartoons on the tv
how  i've given  up on  telling you how
 the failures of responsibility  metastisize
into future blooms.  you  sleep

with no dreams, play  drama  in video
alone i  thought we'd gotten cured of the sim
 but it's just another cave,  plato. chemistry's
quantum  biology, galaxies  flux


as  our  fingers  touch , spin  settles
into double ohs  and flows like mist 
over kenneback  mountain.
you worry about   mirrorirring  or the collarbone's
affect, broken on  opposite sides of a tone
the  yin  yang  in  our  eyes, the placement of  names
into lenses thereby removing fungibility
and the grouping of venn  diagrams designed
to create a cone of  similar spelling errors.

i worry about  do my legs  look good in this light
and is the mascara smeared again. those other  things
are  oedipal. really.   you like the way i stretch
the spasms out of  my  back. why not just go with that?