donneghy donnehey allis framen frip

we sat alone in our little two meme
watching the presidential procedures and alliterations
with new the new kids and those with five year
marks. the twinning prose felt like tinted tissue
but unlike random snow flowers, did little
to brighten an otherwise dulling evening. time to
take it up the stairs, leave your marks on fading
glorious colors. this is the banner day,step up!

on the subject of dress, i always go overboard
glitzy pink above a black silhouette, nipples stitched in.
the legs say it all. let's dance
. ok, that's enough. why i parade
in costume
once a year is a mystery to everyone.
 i've had kids
i must be fuckable. i don't
even want you to want me. i
want to want to want me.
 take a pic. twitter it.

on her birthday eve lynze talks to god

so, sup?
have you lstened to the flapping morse
i sent in the flapping blinds.

well i tried but when i listen
you cease to speak.

stop talking-you mean?
i think you've been living the mind
too much it's why ywe are not connected
you forgot about the tactile communication
we go through. typing a beat you can read .

yes but please keep blowing. it's a lovely day.
the trees are trees the palm is grass, my brazilian pepper
is invasive but so cute with it's green turning red fruit.
overnight. one fall leaf on the sapling lili and i found
at the playground, under the plastic slide just
forcing its way out of the soft sand there.
 it is not even one and taller now
than her. it's looking for its forever home but i can't yet
bring myself to place her in this rented land.
though i myself may die here.
there must be better places to grow.



(*



what do you hope to accomplish? what do you want your reader
to take home from this experience of ingesting words not theirs
but thoughts that might be?

to be clear yet fuzzy, an evocative experience since smell
is absent perhaps a perfume from an equivalent time.
to be a foreshortened version of footnoted text.

to write, in short, like nabakov- a  literarty
love of the moment
because he sees  trees and shadows
makes them characters in his work.
albeit,passive ones.
the winds arms unloosed on the linden trees
climb and shake  in autumn dance
leaves fall glittering red, golden-yellow
 sun drops skitter  across the road
chasing each other. lili squeals, retreats
as a flock rises in the wind advancing
then just as suddenly, stops. she stops.
creeps forward a bit and they blast away
driven by a gust. she chases and the dance is on.






i wonder if i ever saw leaves that way?
shadow comes in for a hug. she doesn't like
that the windows are open . she can hear
the metal spoonish clank of the chimes sister
bought, morse code vertical blinds, palm rush,
web book cooler fan death rattle.

really, why not take it out and blow it off.
clean the years of dust and vacuum packed nicotine.

sigh. pretty sure i couldn't get it back together.
now really it's just too much like work. i should prolly
go plant that fern or move it instead. ya know? it's
a glorious day.

but listen. you can do that after. remember why we're here?


oh yeah, i feel a little dead in side with all this work and worry stuff.
i don't have space to write. or edit or be in a community.






















woah, that was quite the gap.

yeah, i had things to do. plus i don't like to think about why
i don't make that time. i vowed i would honor the love
more than the writing. to do that, i have to be there for the love.
the irony exists in that he loves poetry, and likes my poetry.
sometimes loves it, more when it contains him. which is odd.
tell me, does that mean i can/should write him into my poems?
he admits to vanity. but a mirror may not be as satisfying
a reflection as he wishes. what would ms atwood do?
it is a struggle  i wish he would schedule grading time
so i could use it write. he did this morning, but i reddited.
i'm too accustomed to his interruptions to even want to write
when he's in the room. and now look, i'm babbling.
perhaps you have something useful to say?


no nothing i just wanted to tell you i love you
that's what the blinds are singing, i sent this wind
for you, to blow out the cobwebs binding your mind.
i know you're weary. but look at this

is this all i get though? like three days out of sixty?


oh my dear, no. you have them in fits and spurts. you have them
before and after work, to sit and meditate before you work again.
otherwise i fear we would all just sit and mummify, navel gazing.
it is a lovely spiral, isn't it? paint it for me love, in tomes of regret
if you must be i mess with your lyze, ms lynze. i don 't care
if i ever go there again or submit or try to be involved i'm so fucking
tired all the time i feel irrelevant, because my children think i am.
and this is what the world feels like falling behind, dripped
into the peapod molecule by molecule, imbrication inheritance
bobbing on a breeze.














****~~~~~~~******





how did you put up with me natalka? you were always
so much more talented and all around accomplished.
thanks for thinking of me while we did that .




















***9999(((

it's really kind of groovy in my living room.
there's spaces to be that no one else has to invade
and places for tete a tete or assignation plus it doubles
as a stage when we move the drums out and plug in
the key board. just come on over here, the night
makes me afraid to go out.


really, it's just my body. or was it my spirit.
i think i lost the voices in my head too soon. i could
do a pitter patter to the bank or make headroom
for a flight of cockatiels (the one across the way
says hi). the printed gold threaded india inspired cutrtain
from ms finch billows full of travel and come hither
what's holding you back girl, why did you buy a new car
so close to retirement? don't they know i have to work
fifteen more years for early retirement?  even early ?
so yeah. ummmm. i need a decent car man. i couldn't
get out of that other one anymore. zero interest for seven years.
they took a grand less than my bank wanted. ithink i shoulda
gone thru them i could pay it off early with no penalties
and save some interest. too late. i did the numbers wrong.
i didn't figure i could double payment to the true.

what more did you want to hear , father.
these are sins i swear it. i laughed at the kid
who twirled too much and fell over.
 the sapling
bobs it trunk in the wind looking like you, waving
for me to hurry up, hurry up, don't be late!
the strawberrys remain stock though ants c
  nest in their roots. they need sand. more sand.
hunger attacks at the  most importune times
and worse is when there is something you can
do about it.












~~~~~







i got nothing to eat
but i will
i got your big secret
shall i tell?
















()****


i think, and honestly i do think this,
i don't want to crit that man's poem.
cuz it's not one. sigh. ok , into the fray i go.
because this has run its course. for today.