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

17: cedar shadow, waxwing warts

To lay in the moss, a cedar waxwing floating soundless back & forth over my body. A bed of goldspeck lichens, the tundra, cushioning me like alcohol. In the corners of my eyes loop-lichens play their paths, winding around their yellow-cored families. The dog-lichens chase them across the pale-bellied daisy; mount atlas rising in a distance through the fog. I feel a pinch and then the calm blood from the wound of a snapdragon, its wild dog-mouth bared but toothless. Meaning no harm. I take a bite from the devil's fig and share the rest with a goose lounging nearby in the snow. The world was covered with a fine spray of dot lichens, their frosty-rimmed thalli pricking the light. The roving morning and dot lichens now in shadow; a cascade of soft warts across my sleeping skin.

who did she do she

I'm night and day; I think in sounds and sniffs of the serenest cedar, of sweetgrass curls fondling the upsidedown memory breeze. This is morning afternoon now, like night awhile back and me, we just needed to unwind. Unwind around each other then, in the afterwork of uncertain surprise... suspicious sure pies.

I have the legs of a maple-sugared mile, I have the smile of a dove gone black in a newmoon fly-away. But that doesn't stop me from sitting all still all smothered to relax here and just feel like, coat or no coat, the change-purse accounting, my finders dried a counting. I want to court you, but will you let me softly rub you down?

I like this tune, it sings some back room memory like from the wood word of remembers. i like this beer, it tastes expensive. i like this, all of these letters, and I like it specially your recalling the rivers and the decades gone away, like I'm never a part of. Never apart from. and how many?

Slender is the night; stands sideways, blows away. I can see right through it. The music trusts me enough to let me injest it, breathe it. The smells of all the cedars sweetgrasses & sages I crave, and do have! captured in my won rural city! my own rural metropolis. The irony I call like buying the perfect scent. can you believe I fall for it

which is why I can suggest my own paying out of pocket, and pocket-less, it's relating. All the nights and days.