Holding still in the deflated divot
of an air mattress
I am always so small
One leaf shining in the window
Is it an eye that flickers
Or mouth of devil face
Talking to me
picture myself as a pile of jealous fruit
tumbled on a bed
A cornucopia sinking garish
Like those silly paintings
Giuseppe Arcimboldo
The fruits that make my body
turning dark sap soft and molding green chalk
I feel so ridiculous for that
Eat me!
A platter of fruit in a dark room
It's right to be a platter
On this stately Victorian street
So old and east
It's almost purple
When I squint I can see black fringe
Silver glinting
Iron rings for horses
I wake up in California
With the vacation bed birds
chirruping
Hot pancake and syrup of a sunrise
I think about you
I imagine you and me buttery
Our own yellow house in the west
working together at the pearl wallpaper
Steaming and stripping
Nectar dripping
Butterfly outside
