lalala
small and salacious
summer adventures
like sea anemone ballets.
rooftops
are often involved
and Emily Dickinson
may or may not
approve
of sentences clipped
short
or
naughtiness in its various, pregnant topographies.
Insert Dreamy Title Here
As I rode my unicorn across the sky, I saw the redheads of the world
strumming G chords in unison and
speaking fluent Portuguese.
Pretty cacophony.
But none of them could cook for their husbands and wives so they settled for laundry days
instead.
Now to document paisley summer nights that end as
8 o'clock's
crooked, hazel light rips the earth at its seams.
Tenderly ravenous.
Then a scientist and a love child walk into a bar but their bodies fuse in watercolor tango while they both
wait to speak and
wait for the other to speak first.
How I Feel About Words Sometimes
it was
a swamp
of scraggly words
like weeds
bad poetry
trying to impress
she waded through
waist-deep
and adjectives lodged themselves
between her toes
all filth and phrases
"her forlorn thunder shower eyes"
the other side
a dusky sky
and clouds that spelled
the end
one word
or two
devoid of poignancy
yet oddly
warmly
fitting
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