Let's move

around. Go
places.

Many of these poems are not poems.

What's in a poem.

I don't write poems anymore.

I don't tell the truth.

What's truth. And blah blah identity crisis (not really).




Lately I've been really interested in sustainability/making the earth a healthier place...everything seems to turn into a clusterfuck though (?) You think you're making a difference and the big interests are in front of you everytime influencing you (?) The sugar council (?) I don't know, folks. Don't eat anything that contains more than five ingredients. Unless they are actual ingredients and non-hydrogenated at that. No high fructose corn syrup, thanks!

And the weather. And weather eye open.

I've noticed I get pulled into tendencies and patterns which I notice as they are changing without an ability or care to stop them though I think "hey. this may be a new one."
They always seem eternally *me* while they're happening, but I think it's a mix of the pesticides and the exercise and the job market - the impact of all the external on all people external to me and how all this, in turn, effects me and my patterns.

I had fun last night. Even though I passedoutfellasleep and woke up carsick with the CD over and my lately favorite song overunsungalongwith.



Mmm. Think I realized one reason why feeling so pleasant this morning. Dream where the tailor turned into a bakery owner in Amsterdam. They were out of the pies and the chinese food and the gyro kits, so she said: I will give you a pass, pick out $50 worth of merchandise. I proceeded to the back where the vintage shoes fit me and were cheap and plentiful - and circus peanuts also abounded! No bottle or box of wine was under $90 dollars, however.

I used to write a love poem

every time I had fun with someone. Then
she'd stop talking to me. If she knew or not she
might have. I used to write a love poem every time
you broke things. Had teeth. Rested.




Would you eat the food/if grown there?
Would you taste the food/if groan?
Would you sweet the wood---what toning.
And the sweat of the red of the rhubarb
the plan.



What was that lightening last night - was that heat lightning?
The half-moon about to be shut off by clouds.



What to do about a constant---pain if itching---white?
Don't catch me on your camera.




i wasn't talking to anyone! but they
and a vest and a beaded dress and
a lapdog
space it off apart from the fire it's too hot
no hot no it's cold, blanket round










i never thought i'd see you again
i knew it was coming if

the hug there


you were the way you is
the condoms in
the creature








it made me think about semen some
more gravity there
who is coming? who has already
shown? proper dressing?

we figured it out together i don't remember
what we talked about only
listening to you - convince him - that first
night that night with my hair short i wanted
no matter












and firewood
and good dry
firewood
and sparks and the woods
are burning the wood
is burning the sparks
are all on your foot