P. 1 Night Piece

and that night will embroider the waters of my soul
with its gossamer whatnots
and redemptive promise
in great godlike loops
and my heart will at last untangle
and my mind will unfurl like a flag of soft lightening
the flame will lower
the storm will cease
the dreaming will start
the infinite morning will begin at last



sometimes I like to imagine my life on a motorcycle

sitting here dreaming
licking pistachio salt off my fingertips
sometimes I like to imagine my life on a motorcycle
on a
on a
bike with big fat wheels
and my hair wrapt up in a helmet
so I can
pleasure-filled and vain
take it off
burst it forth from its plastic gumball top
and shake it out shake shake shake
see here and look you people!
I have blonde goddess hair you people!
my bike shall have flames on the sides
licks of them like cats lit did it
long and thrilling
and with them
throughout pavement and
steaming I shall ride
over snail trails
that wind shiny loops through the Napa Valley
and down Arizona streets with their dust cakes
and under New Jersey electricity that is killing us all
and around old has-been festival grounds in Ohio
with their dopey carnys
and empty-eyed freaks
all dull and sad inside
except and but when I ride my bike of fire by
they would get new life inside of themselves
and opt for a sweet shiny apple
I toss on the fly
instead of another cotton candy hot dog monstrosity
“Gotta keep your teeth!”
I’ll yell
“Nature’s Toothbrush!”
because I believe in dental hygiene
and we will all laugh and laugh
I will ride right past all the things I never did
short trip
and I’ll undo my sins
I will grab everyone I ever did hurt
with purpose or
in an accident of painful adventure
and place them gently and with love on the back of me
and beg them to wrap their forgiveness tentacles
around my waist in several hoops
and he will and she will and I will and we will
knit our brokenness
in the purifying flames of my back seat
and the cotton candy stick catlicks along the sides
sins are salty things
pistachio things
things licked off fingers
on a dream of a motorcycle

yesterday Damian and i had an outing to Brooklyn in the rain

we had an outing
to Brooklyn in the rain
to see some dark and beautiful work
of LaToya
in the museum
i haven’t been to in 15 years at least
back when i was tiny-titted
and lacedup-booted
my hair went wild in the wind and snapped into bands of red light at my ear
and the park called me chanteuse
and my boyfriend was married and carried me from the bath in his folded up wings
and i believed in love
i believe in love now more than ever
can i make fun of you?
that broken up umbrella in that mustardy tawny boy-color
snapped in two equi-distant places?
we are gonna poke some peoples eyes out with these wires
hope it’s bad cops next revolution next time they corral us like foals on fire
next riot
we riot in laughing and grabbing our feathery old jeaned legs joined in-
god we are so funny in self-absorbed couple glee
that i will consider later and pretend to hate
seeing art in the rain run down the roof of the lobby glass like bubble mix some kid spilled
darting into traffic
like dogs
like two untoward people in love
like children at age 50
like we don’t know we are dying
like we have found our heaven
like at last we belong with somebody elseIMG_2022


Train Memories

I have not yet lost the spirits
utter lust to wander and want
the heavy and rust delicacy of a train
Hobo illogical ways
My lower abdomen receives long rushes of urge
Talent for runnings away
in pink strokes
I see it appear and disappear
in the part of my mind
reserved for longing
For romantic desolation
and winding brown strings of roads
Long fingernails of steel tracks
scraping sensual
down the ground’s back

One day I have to ride again.

Eyes leaning out the windows
and river of thought
striking walls
and circumventing old routes
My heart flung up into trees
like short barks of laughs
tripping and swallowing
Or spread out softly within
a frightening and
lacy mist
Feeling old and cold and smothering
like a beautiful grey and controlling mother
that rests heavy on you
presses you down with love
The different fun my heart gets to be
when I haven’t anywhere to go

I will ride again tomorrow!

Hop on and pay for myself
smoke in the cigarette lounge
that is one long choke
a howl of death
buzzing up through an electric ventilation system
But we don’t care.
Zippos rip out all the seams
we sew between us
as humans
and sparks turn into rambling
red-orange stories
that are small and stupid and somehow
absolutely important
to the turning of the world.
“I can’t eat danish. My doctor says I gotta stay away
but I love em. I love em as a vice–cheese danish.
I have em anyway.”
“I taught my dog-my Cocker Spaniel dog-to say ‘I love you’
and fuck if he did it! I’d tell him ‘say I love you to everybody in the bar
because they’re all your friends’ and dammit if
he didn’t go up to every single motherfucker in the bar
and say ‘I love you I love you I love you’. I cried like a baby
when I had to give him away.”
Stupid stupid stories
Lonely lonely people
Friends for thirteen hours and
that’s enough.

I’ll ride tomorrow!