He navigates the wild
without ever losing
his hat
In signature brown attire
he braves
the elements
come what may
and meets the deadline
with the treasure
intact
Indiana Jones is my fave
and he finally found me
<swoon>
Oh, wait
It’s just UPS at my door
<sigh>
He did bring me treasure though
my body is fine right?
like it does the trick?
my husband is super
into it but other
people would be
too, yeah?
is it still pretty
even when I’m
not smiling?
sometimes
I’m ashamed
at how much
that matters—
how much my
love involves
lust, how much
self-worth
depends on
the eye of
the beholder
it’s not cool.
definitely
not in line
with my
feminism,
with my
acceptance
of everyone
else, with
body positivity.
why is the
boundary
of my empathy
measured by
the amount
of work I do
to keep myself
beautiful?
he likes me
the way I am.
do you?
My train ran off the rails
It’s lost it’s track
It doesn’t know where it’s going
It’s stuck in a ditch
It doesn’t know what’s going on
And neither do I
I ask “What happened?”
It replied “I got lost again”
I say “It’s okay. We get back on every time and we can do it again”
I look at the damage
The wheels
The windows
And my eyes get glossy
I let it happen again
It happens all the time
For once
I just want to stay on the tracks
But then my train reminds me
“The tracks aren’t our path anyways,
It’s everywhere else and anywhere we build our own”
I close my eyes
Wipe my tears
And run my hands along
The outside of the train
And grin and tell my train
“You’re damn right”
In the beginning was the Word
And
The Word was with God
And
The Word was God
handsy brambles have copped their share of scratches –
shallow
and gouges?
slow
—if we’d resented less the future moldering mess
would we have carried home your harvest, while
you limped along beside?—was it that day you learned
the fearful tempo of shame?—what if it all rests
on one moment,
as thin as a scratch, cast of characters still new as a berry
green on the vine?—
and considered
on each of our gatherer flesh
—I am not better than this one moment, nor were any
of us worse than our best—would it have helped to
know that?—before the first legit prescription?—before
unintended last?—
it goes so fast
sometimes?
blackberries
and sometimes still?
a story you stopped telling
because ghost stories aren’t paced
for laughs
Everlasting Everest
I’m an ape.
And you sip piss.
I eat dabs while we dine in.
I’m a poet.
Pockets thin.
Verified insult
I’ve cut a man’s throat.
Then sewed it back up again.
I found floral twin piggy planters
with slots for coins as well,
plus coveralls your size in olive green.
Sunglasses of every shape,
dusty and 80’s
adorn our faces.
One dollar each,
we buy 5.
Little by little
you slip away
walking ahead at the flea.
Fishing lures jumbled,
so gently untangled.
No purpose to hook
but to hide drawn
in a book-
Gallery of the Fridge is closed.
Time at this market
too expired.
Days of 15 straight ahead,
where anxiuos treasures
wait
for our ready grasp
unknowing.
Conversation:
the only arena
where a warrior
can run a sword
straight through your heart
and walk away
completely oblivious
to any damage done.
Hog Butcher for the World…
City of Big Shoulders
Carl Sandburg, 1916
Trucks upon trucks, construction
delay us on 65 to Chicago
(I’m flying next year – can’t take this)
Stopped again – this time alongside a huge
steel trailer with slats all
up and down the sides. I notice
flesh pink and bulging
from the openings – slats
for air. I look and see blushing
peach mounds covering the massive
bed, lying down nestled,
sleeping. Crowded, their bristles thrust
through the holes.
Sleeping.
No rooting, no wallowing, silent. Suckled
by sows. This king-sized steel sty – their
last home.
If they were in a cartoon, I fantasize,
or if one were
Old Major, possibly they could escape.
We are headed to Chicago though.
We stop at a diner. It is inevitable.
Bacon burned, I order.
Two eggs over easy.
