I can never finish anything these days, so here are some scraps (well, the first one is mostly done):
//--
a crab apple has in fact
hit me on the head:
Island, I play jump rope
with the lighthouse radar.
& swim at the angry sunset--
four stingrays pound their spikes in.
kill me the same way
you kill a vampire, or a zombie, or him.
beach, bang me with rocks in the boil,
I collect multi-colored bruises, and shells.
I am almost drowned, happy on a blue towel.
listen to the buzz of crickets or a lawnmower.
beer is like salt water, drink it.
each wave is a door,
count grains of sand by slamming wet doors.
I wish for a sun-warmed dream,
to live in a half washed sand castle.
I will make a crab my wife,
slip into her shell
and offer her this apple.
//--
I gave a short indian girl a story to read
about a tall indian girl who doesn't read stories.
I laughed in my bed thinking about
how much she would hate the story.
//--
on a light day, little light kitties float;
once in a while a paw pushes
the ground away again.
//--
she loves to vacuum and find dead flies
on the speakers that must have caused that buzzing sound
and to generally fix things and go round and round
like a tire. this half is night time. this is daytime.
so nighttime and daytime, thud thud, move us forward.
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