Monday, February 13, 2017

can we tho


tinker with the blanket corners in this dim bedroom cuz its dimmer outside 
lets lick little patches of windowsills 
with the sun slanting nice
in the morning a thick blanket for curtains 
me warm 
from whats definitely dimmer-
a facacta brainstorm 

have we lost sight of what binds us?
is it not tasting the dust?
licking the windows, eyes shut with trust?
have we forgotten such things as cookbooks and art?

the cold bricks of angst,
a head heavy with lust



this morning I'm a hippie even though I'm from new jersey/ trashy maybe snookie/ ha/ but a sucker for the city/ consuming nachos from the box and sex ed from the telly/ fiened for musicals like cats/ ordered extra mozerelly…


my clothes always hurt
and my phone always breaks
quote my own poems like
a quilt for blankets sake
folded up try not to ascribe
the good or the bad so
before you prescribe when
you move things can change
like a neckline, switch cuts!
a happenstance scallop
or a turtle neck front
this is how malleable reality is
like those tress wrapped in their
invisible twine, might as well be 
after my nights dose of wine
I like to come sit on this swing on the hill
where it sounds like farm and
the breeze at its will, rustles the leaves
that are green all year round
the clucking and cooing and tags
on the trunks, cradle my hippie heart 
and account for the stuff of
some sensibility of angst in the woods
plus patches of wind…