not poem hands) little anything with hands

your star eyes

hook me
but
continue

because no circling winks are lost

wanted -
a sun world

that creates the temple
of mushy want poems

more
shrinking beers &

i wrote this one

to the boy with the mini
belly button ring
his nodding face on my back

everything cube & cool

Intuition

the endless season of         too late has begun      the penultimate parasol           swirling burned coffee & campfire smell     someone broke the      pot it sounds like snow rubbed together as the footing slips and she drops the bone-cup the bandanna      to pick up     something soft

Inspired By A Brassaï Photo: The Stairs

he walks this way one hour before me

left on the 27th step:

kittens mad with rain

a bowl filled with tears

tiny wings that seem to wear shadows
the sun will never touch



*

tangerine

particular tokens of little. your wizard hat is great chaos
ascending. my dress, scattered lustre. i have been writing
a harp machine for your new tongue. and let my thighs pour into

air

birds that fly back from the night

the cinema of your lips

...............





published in

Venereal Kittens

later you called me, Sillyhair

and then everything was alright.

[pome goes here]

saved last nite:

succulent leaves refusing to fly

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

there are important things to do

such as?

making sense & taking a nap

...

above us
clouds keep touching each other


*this poem has notes---
move your cursor over my heart
to read them*

head glow

i've lost the flight guide & am indifferent to your
indifference

my biggest complaint:
things don't gleam softly
long enough

i swallow delirium &
justify the damage to myself

no connection

hurricans of blue

deaf

laters

i will venture out into the sharp sun and buy cigarettes
stamps
and booze

i'll write a few letters but nothing for you


[ * ]

Good Morning You Little Jackass

I hope your sidewalks stick you like a needle.

I poured skim milk into my coffee because
I forgot I had the half&half. I forgot about your beard of ice.

I I I I I

I will write a poem today

I hope your face and hair become square

I dreamed about all the nights we floated home over the snow
greedy and indifferent

our holes filled with flashing neon

I dreamed I strung all the moons together and burned them
...
I dreamed I stopped dreaming and everything fell off the page
.
.
.

even the smoke shakes
when you light my cigarette

your eyes become
two oozing (ha ha .. maybe, crusty?) assassins




......

A ReRun

pass code no longer needed

a dive with linoleum floor

descartes looking for
the seat of the soul

not quite

blanking now
only momentarily

*

wake up..
but love
merely turned its
plush
body

between the empty spaces

../....//../.