obit

April 4, 2014

Conventional! I have a witness for volume, the neighborhood roars, the lap lap of the sea, the atlantic, little boise roars, the waves lick my ankles of the sand I'm of the sand. I think

 I'll smoke a cigarette. my name is molly, I am just short of 30, I've fallen in love a number of times, I live in little boise, I'm drinking strawberry beer, chad is cutting isaiah's hair sadly, crying at the lostlocks, daydreamy, cedar oil. I shaved half of my dog, she is flearidden. the era got eerie.

 Or, do you want to celebrate?

I live in a room up top, upstairs people land of balcony people, the haunting neighborhood roar. the roar of wet neighbors and dry neighbors, the land of faraway loveslost, lovelocks, lostloves, lostlocks.

recently I have acquired a weddingdress, of course we mean weddingguestdress, bestdressed weddingguestdress, the first lady would wear it before she was she.

pie slits. let out the steam a bit!

bring it up a bit. competing multitudes

signed

no prob

hey pretty getreal
we have to $$ too much
I always hated air conditions
but I moved to the south, to the endless summer so
we pump her up
I don't like to sleep enclosed is a room without windows
is hard for me, for my want of fresh breaths but
the buggies
they fly invisibly in
and suck at my ankles
at the underside of a toe.
so seal up we do.
but we can't afford it anymore, controlling our climate.
so now it's a heavy 85 degrees
both in the house & out of the house
at 74 percent humidity
rains in waves
I don't mind it at all. covered by 150 yrs of balcony
but
inside my skull it's humidest
and I can't defog it
I don't bite my fingers anymore, too relaxed to chew me up.
leave that for the buggies.
I've got nothing wrong. I'm adaptable, you know.

VENUS

my evenings in summer. I couldn't smoke at Kari's when I lived there so I found the clubhouse. when I'd ask people if they wanted to come there they'd say yes and we'd zigzag sharp upthe hill through the sages and past mellow pink & graygreen donkeytail succulents and we'd wedge our ankles into seats to prop us on, and they'd say, I thought there would be an actual house, here. I loved it at sunset 10:30 at the tip of summer mountain standard time, when up & to the right there'd be glowing venus. I can do anything I want to now, here, so I sit on the balcony in the trunk of summer at sunset around 8:07 central standard time and up to the right there, thar she glows. familiar as ever. if I were in Idaho still I might lament that the trunk of summer radiates nervously, that days shorten at not my wanting, for I've no doubt the same sun sets there, too. I share a timezone with you. doesn't that craze me? meaning makes me crazy. I'll always think of the sultry air surrounding me at this moment, forever I know it. I might not ever quit at saying so. time changes, my zoning mutates. but I've my forever promises & my familiar footholds in any muting sky of summernight. I'll die with some imprint of a silhouetted palm behind eyelid quakes.
there be no doubt in that.

flirt journey

  I want to
overwhelm your mountains
  hey, girl
  I am a dripper of coins
a pouch for you, stain your sheets with copper and nickel
stick to your summer fur
rub me behind the earfolds, makeawish
  sit around outside in dark dark silent summer
  or lay on your stone, on your back, shirt pulled up
   pale stomach
   constellation-lit
  my constellated torso
and
  longlegs
crossed at the ankles
  be my best friend at nighttime
    urge me coquette
   try for me to call you through a flirt, a longdistance wink at-me
   so I can fold my wings
   under my down spots
    in my own bod
     to wihdraw from your touch-words
    the threat of
    the hum of
  your mellifluous murmurs
it might be on the way, or a thousand miles out of
  on the way
    the pacific, almost reaches
    or canada, it nearly touches me
  get me in your forest climate,
    I want into your urging dense
      your fat ancient wood
    making me a small thing,
       an occasional thing
    my spot body for your moss
  to cling to
      give my suctions little flirts to grip
    and temporary promises to sigh about

when the seasons are falling in love

the pink reasons falling in love

My head explodes and mine mouth burns. Here, in the kitchen at checkerclothed table I sit trying, typical typing. The dog collapses beneath, only a crimped & done-up tail to see. The remote sounds of jazz, the behind-me tweet of a housefinch no doubt swaying on the windblown line just outside my attic window. They fight, the finches, and the red breasted nuthatch swoops in with its little tubular stone of a body, beak apoint like a needle, to chip away at the black oil sunflower seeds. I hear the wind in the trees & the sun is hot on my bare neck, just visible over the horizon of window. The pink rose from another day still perfect in brown medicine bottle- still insane in its perfume, enough do disbelieve a smell like could be a natural one! and if it wasn't we'd shake our heads in revulsion at such a saccharin scent.

The dog woofs low and emits habitual growls. They're like hiccups, they can't be helped. The yerba maté chai + peppermint still warm and thoroughly enthurmosed. My ankles and cheeks & everything inbetween, enthurmosed.