aayoung

late evening
spent spinning
webs of words with harp strings
i consider my delicate fingers holding the glass
i touch you through the ether
we come at the same time
to hear
Kerouac say he
thought poetry
was jazz
proclamations
for me it is
breathing
humming
fucking
Whitman’s
barbaric yawp
is my seductive moan
i bleed no less into my ink
Emily had her bees
i have resorted to prolific rhinoceros
thought gestation e e cummings
left me wet
and
trembling
deliciously satisfied
i put your words
into my mouth
and spread their melt over my tongue
eat with me
drink the wine
i want to remember the meal we shared
the night you told
me
what the words
are to you

When Push Comes To Shove
it is not
Too Late
to admit that I
Feel The Way I Do
Cruel You
In My Arms Again
but
Tomorrow Night
i will still live
In Her Shadow

she

placed her

hand in her pocket

while considering Pablo

and squeezing avocado

found a remnant of

Maria’s medieval football game

and his smile

i touch the amber

around my neck

i wore it  that friday night

as i stood

and cheered for parsippany

consolation games

she will not

fall to her

knees

in

produce

shades

unclosed

seeking repose

in your

sunny

elsewhere

i hear you

pacing in the light

talking to my

empty chair

my coffee unsipped

i listen

sitting upon

a still packed

suitcase

put on

another

record

we won’t

listen

to

i

discovered

while looking for

wrapping paper

what he’s been building

in there

scream and saw

hem and haw

coffins

three

which he

shaped like me

and two

zoftig

kitties

what

are seams

on

stockings

there

for

if not

the reason being

a

finger

to

trace

the

line

my

southbound

heart

northbound

veins

interstitial ennui

but there is

fine coffee

to

be

had

in

youngstown

sipping my day-off coffee

considering day-off bourbon

staring into tuesday

looking for words

in my sugar bowl

kurt vonnegut spins around

in the empty chair

across time

and reminds me

he has no country

or life in his body

i pass him the half and half

he defers for whole milk

he tells me he lived too long

to be dead

and still unsure about dairy

i present your dilemma

a request for a swift firing squad

and he suggests a friendly musket

i agree

as it displays

merciful sang-froid

there
were
moments

lazing in our grand isle

eating
unfamiliar berries

drinking unlikely wine

oh

the impossible conversations

they are still blushing

a thousand pages past

todays now
full of
unmailed letters

edna pontellier
to your
nobler
robert lebrun
you hide
within
my structure

boarding house

sketches
and
lines

we return to our ocean

the sand envelopes

our bare feet

regret rises up between toes

shells broken scattered washed

run together in saltwater finger paint

to form pictures of us within tide pools

it will all be taken in by the surf

we are no good

at being cold and wet

let us shed these damp things

we

swim

out

together

awakenings

need

not

be

fatal

sifting

through other mornings

remembering my little indian girl

little miami river revealing

where i exist in the world

i follow moccasin

footprints

to truthful streams

for it is impossible to think

in a sweat lodge

medicine woman emerges

from my silvery temple hair

pouch of tent magic

and a flint

cradled in warm fingers

fallen people

like

fallen snow

are capable of becoming

so frozen

you

no longer sink

into them

i

am determined

to set fire to the ground

and

thaw

you