it's like the warts the old man told you to forget

so you did, next time
you look, they're gone.
the smashed thumb will be
the same way.

budha bar, i have a block
on spelling the master's name
correctly, it's iconclasticy written
in my stars. i like the bud ha spelling
precisely cuz that's how i think of him.
as if living, as if
 alive on his mountain drinking rice wine
spodio di, as if metric plays for him
same  as us .. ay up

sitting here in mothra's womb
dissolving in a slow pacific radiator
the gyre/ing plastic sea, sea lion
cancers, dolphins with measles
how they itch
sandbar roll scratching
searching for relief,
 oatmeal bath
mama's fingernails , let's roll em
in the sand and swim them
out to sea on our backs
  they save drowning tourists
we could return the favor




but no. just like all decisions we've made
we only get it right on monday morning,
watching the replay. this is why
 momma shoulda tooken our
nuclear space radiator toys away
as soon we got em.
you know, set off a geyser in texas
tidal wave kennedy center, open a sinkhole
at las alamos, remember the alamo?
































*



thank you for the flip flops
the corona has already worn off
the sole, but seriously
 which do you actually use? 
I kind of like the keyboard.

 On the other hand the pen
 makes the texture feel 
  weightful, a  central gravity
 that pulls the form together and in

.... pen plus
 paper notebook page 
equals
 shorter more controlled form,

 while keyboard 
plus internet
 is
 disorientingly massless, weightless.


good point.































(*&

special

such a misconstruable word
not to mention state of mind.
what does that mean, exactly?
it means as soon as i sit to write
you come in. so there you are. and
here i go

greyskies for giggles

----------------------------

sposed to be
is rarely understood.
that's why it's frustrating.
it's a paradox with guts
knotted by  injustices
the little ones , seeding.

i hear there's a tropical disturbance
in the gulf. it must be august.
your  back is wailing and i'm in place
a lot like purgatory without a reward to look
forward to. no matter how many votives burn
for me. in this realm time
is the only god.

(the other gods recoil in various stages
of disgust, horror, jealousy, cruel irony, amusement)

you are the perfect foil for my test of path
of least resistance. you are the eddy that swirls
in on itself, a vortex time falls into
compresses and disappears. on
this side of the hole, the sun does its thing
spin accomadates days as lettuce is to rabbit.

let's get on the road please, while the sky holds
our place in morning.

vinnie and the pot gods

he calls at seven, i have
a little more than a bowl left
  several bags of stems
to scrape through a three
hundred mile journey to make.
i'll be there soon a promise
i always believe. waiting well
into the night postponed scant moments
after the last of weed is used he arrives
half his face with punch marks
he says a nest of wasps laid on me
i was on his way home from npr
minding my own business when
out of nowhere
a nest of wasps attacks! it was like a movie!
unbelieveable. i agree. you should have seen me
i was crying but i didn't fall off that ladder
i made it to the ground
and  them damn wasps
the ones that ain't homeless
are dead..

what was that about?

jealousy of another woman cuz
youre doing with her what you should be doing with me.
spending time. i've distanced myself from
your projects, put road between your money n mine
and for good reason. so now of course
you make her dinner, while i ws gonna make ours
but why the reaction? stunned. that i would feel
jealous. sick . ness. of the time. spent
without you, and i made my life for you which
was a stupid ass move, so now i'll have to make
friends anew. see if majik wanna go to the beach.
sad of me to be so
so
i dunno. bed u too soon.

summer of bloode

with an e so it won't come up
in the same search , a thousand entries down,
as the band or horror show.

july 3 i began to bleed again.
heavy massive attacks. bloodstains
in the bathroom. we don't care.
driving mercury marquis in our dreams.
yeah, i love that song.

a good friend told me bloated.
i saw an fb pix and i have to agree.
but maybe that's just my fat content
on display for all of us to see.

not eating more per se,
but eating later, and quite a bit over fifty
but not quite on the down side
i chalk the baby bump up to


so yeah, operation on the looming.
six weeks recovery/ i don't think so.
it's more like i'll be back when the pto runs out.
tho i could use those 40 hrs i got in long term
after. hell, i ddin't get that much with either of my babes
now they gonna remove the machine and i can
write a book? i think

i think i'll be back in 2 so that won't be happening.
no heavy lifting. but you're so heavy in my arms.
what happened to you i can't change
or maybe i don't want to. it's you that wants to change.
can we. are we able to? or do we just
keep slogging the same patterns because it's easier omg
i hate the signs of life in the meat puppet.


but ok. a picture of my room.
the clothes you gave me from your closet
like sediment from the bay on yhe floor.
a multicoloured window
 treatement lounges atop 700 thread count sheets
new in spring, now stained ever so slightly
with the trials of my uterus beside its empty twin
under a open drawer spilling more bounty
from your sea.


the dresser itself littered
a  coney island after sandy
checkbook,empty pill bottles, vanilla body
butter, lip gloss, werther's toffee, handleless
brush, vaseline, torn raggedy
ann and andy dolls, empty
werther's candy wrapper, spare key,five
pound trigger card, coffee cup with coffee,
announcement for your grad, a glass from hawaii
it says so on the decal, bone handle knife given
to me by my grandfather or you by yours
insence/poker stick, envelopes with secrets inside
voter id card, ticket stub from last year's renfest,
sudafed.


there's more but by now i've lost you.
it's ok. my need to write is independent of your need to read.




you worry about
the puncture wound but that's not a problem
yet.  it's how am i gonna get through
four hours of aquarium with my daughter.
better take a stress tab cuz thar, be sharks.

(that's what emily knew
that you are me and i am you)


so love, this is the equivalent, do you see?
little books bound with twine,  hidden
in dear one's pockets. they may know
to take a look. my sister has the letters
my mom wrote/ while she was going
 through cancer/to me because i was the one
they sent away. and i am forty and still
 parsing this out and i am fifty and still
parsing this out and i am seeking unspoken
questions and their answers long after
the gong stopped ringing. i stike it again.
i like the sound.



all this to aviod the phantom in the mirror.
sagging jawline, droopy lids, baggy eyes.
how did the old crone i always saw
come to now? heh. i sposed that's time's magic.



but that don't worry me much.
i am ok with not dealing in flesh trade.
love me for who i am
even when she's a selfish bitch.


i will soak the sheets in cold water.
i will go out into the day and enjoy
the feel of sun and spray , employ
all my skills of love with my daughter.

xoxo

why is caring for others' welfare a bad thing now?

what's been missing in your life

my sombrero
simple as an unpaid contract phone bill
cut off in midsentence.
it covers all your flaws with impenetrable
shade. tip your head this way,
i disappear.
 tip your head that way,
you do. if
you keep that fetal position
nice and tight.


i know living under a shadow
can be daunting. you gotta
budget and  we don't agree
on a lot of choices, hell
choice is not a word you want
to be familiar with but i warn you
my sombrero demands it.

take it off, full face sun slam.
leave it on, no one takes you seriously
until you prove yourself.
it's not exactly camouflage

so here, i'ma trade you this thing
for a bargain. what say you take
your princeatude and pop it into
my time machine. i'll tune it
to the proper setting  and we'll
send that bitch back to whatever past
you got it from.

pistache

he meticulously observed 
strictly denoted  linnaean listings
of a  neosensibility of "our times" 
as these are also times of scenes
 seen by the eye; seen
 by the eye
 watching the screen; seen
 by the eye watching the screen-capture
 of what a camera caught
 looking over the shoulder onto the screen of some other watcher…
ultrascreenism.plethora
tiny shards of interaction
 adornments so  life ==
more adorable and sugary
than the deck at the dasha near moscow 


as usual the team was running late.
she had to write, pick up grandkid detritus
he visits travelogues to inner cameras.
dumps the ashtrays, scour the mugs,
stacks books back on the nightstand
a million things to cash in on, a minute to do it+

 tap beer runs with streams of tiny bubbles   nectar,  

What made the cover art of Black 
Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ establish itself
 as classic was admittedly a difficult 
and slippery topic 
 whilst you kept staring
 at the pool players  in
 back of some of the houses 
and Mothra, 
  the charismatic insect;
  red and yellow as fuck

 front ones look like new
 but back ones has a few skids in them
 because we don't has no breaks because we so raw 
but you can use them for
 like a jillion thousand miles use these
 rubbahs for anything you
 need besides birth control they so raw

 oh snap