at your service

i pluck a lullaby from notes that the wind makes

and i sing in la-la-la’s just for you

i pretend that the fellas can hear me too

as the warm sun makes me take off your old army shirt

hold on i got a text

but before i scroll on screens i loved your stories

of bayonets and the history channel’s gruesome blitzkriegs

and when you’d sit in the garage

crying hysterically like a heart broken woman

i would weep too by the old fig tree in the afternoons

why do we fight when we fight each other

and when we fight ourselves will the world be better off

no egos need apply

tranquil 3:48 p.m. cemetery

exposed roots and i lay my head

on them inhaling the stink of rot

coming from the moisture

entwined in their wood

like cells and chromosomes

the lawn lush and cool

flower beds the brightest

colors in nature’s pupils

jeweled hovering insects

with class and personality

perhaps we are in the place

where not only the dead

come to rest

below the soil

a natural process

holy if you will

is taking place

God’s created flesh

returns to its forewarned state

i can’t imagine it would

appeal to me if i saw it

i then wonder would God’s

face appeal to me too

i focus back on the scents

around me

green aquatic a fowl or six

fried chicken knock off perfumes

car exhaust a hookah oxtail stew

and i think again

behind the pedi-cured beauty

underneath my resting fleshy bones

resides the biological truth

no egos need apply                       


i hope you look at me

from across this blue bed

immersed in your man business

i immersed in a primal hot urge

turn around i command you

i laugh in my head

i crouch quietly like a tigress

licking my lips fantasizing

of your thirst quenching sweets

raw essence on my pulsating tongue

waiting for you to turn off

the computer lights

and turn on my gyrator circuitry board

i’m bathed

i’m slicked in the patchouli you love

my t-shirt the loose one with LA Kings GO!

flash you a warning i do hope you know

that when you lay here

i’ll nuzzle your neck

tug at your ear

lick down the center

of your bristly chest

and right when i reach there

the music comes on

you get sentimental

and you pull me on up

to kiss and to hold me

and call me your love

that’s when it’s ruined

and i start to crumble inside

i know that you told her

the same thing last night



Mr. Walt

how are you

i’m at Whole Foods

nature and wholesomeness now vacuumed packed

i daydreamed of you while my cell phone crashed

i can’t feel me

tortured girl

i miss



you wrote

about it

my feet have turf

pictures of log cabins stored in a box

at the natural museum deemed worthless

Walt my spirit

aches for time

with you