Single Girl, Married Girl
I think here’s it’s the highest per capita in dogs in the world.
Get out of here old man you don’t own it.
Guru in the video says, so, so.
I would co-sign that.
The summer forgives you into October.
The burning sensation spreads: stomach to chest to shoulders.
I feel the reverberations.
Hell no heil no I pay back the universe.
Princess Margaret and her “plumbs.”
God so excited first rain “mangold” sounds like marigold,
a kind of rough spinach—
my capacity for creating—no, coat-wearing
Send out the bat-signal, everything is later than expected.
Someone brought us a cheesecake
if we could find someone live to read to us
maybe yes we could go in that direction.
To know that this is a person on the edge
sits on the porch in a white lace dress
rejoin the human race with its deaths and births
the cat basking in the sun at the entrance to the non-descript office.
Bird songs here are wonderful despite the drilling.
I longed for him like a sexual fantasy it built and built and then it was over
inner outer secret most secret
she used to praise my purple skirts back when I was figuring psalms.
This is lovely but it numbs instead of making us lithe and alive
Skirts are reversible, sun bathes me boil your head
chant a little, the wind disturbed
the leaves created what you could call a vendetta.
A poem became a pigeon, became a brick always
its morning in the burned house always
a way to start the day,
the attempt to see the world and all its gifts:
rubber tree pressing in against the window,
voices underneath the window,
he did put salt on her guitar,
more flies than mosquitoes now, four floors at least.
The people in the dream keep pointing at my face.
Single girl, single girl she’s going dressed up so fine,
married girl, married girl
wears any kind.
Hello, are you registered.
Certain well picked objects a scent diffuser to “plumb”
is to go down into the depths as the place
where I call to you
Berlin Collage #2
A key baked into an indigestible loaf of bread
then I threw it up all night and all day
the waves of nausea like sea sickness,
not pregnancy, or something had got lodged in me,
someone else’s envy.
Meanwhile a fruit basket arrived instead of everything I wanted.
This neighborhood was named by Huguenot refugees for Moab,
because they could not enter Canaan.
Set of stairs like long breaths.
Occasional flowerboxes. It rained all afternoon.
Cut off her finger when she died.
The hammer was painted over with a sword, perhaps in the eighteenth century,
or in a borrowed house a photo of an Irish mother kneels down to speak to her children.
Cups can hold or they can curse like the cup of sorrows
turned up later after the unfortunate Russian coronation
in Holland I think some enterprising businessman was selling them
repainting for Dutch or Flemish royalty
so you can change your destiny.
Pop-up pink coffee cups the color of diaphragms
may have had one in a dream? Don’t think I ever used one
in reality though it’s been a long life so far.
The city is wide and empty you swim in a tub of corrugated iron.
A sensation of swimming in sweet water it’s too heavy.
Shepherd’s Purse achingly long
will taste like pig’s food if you cook it too long,
sad song of the wife before the husband leaves her and takes another bride
don’t break your mother’s heart
eventually entailed a move out of the city,
a search for specks of other color among the green.