decembme

with a whimper. I put down the meusli, I put down the grapefruit I halved (done right) because it tastes bad to me, or it's from texas, or, or, the beans in my stomach making puff puff at me. I think all the herbs from all of the world come into me through the nostrils down the throat. I lost my appetite because you thought I might drive round the crescent to fetch you at 8:30 drop my hat, take you to work, did you stay up too late? oh no, did I should rescue you? I am not that me, anymore. it's december, let's get up. this is pretty real, in me. growing back your bones, we see with it in them now.

song for the holiday inn at casa grande arizona

And here, still, warmest pavement beneath barest feet, the hair of the dog literal & figurative, below and over. The glimmer of aqua poolwater waving at me. My own salty dog, my palest pink dress. The palest coloring of arizona no matter where. Today I took a walk down a long road, over three miles and they claiming it's one-hundred-and-seven degrees. I scoff and drip. Would it be nearly that hot? I can take it better than I thought. No loneliness set-in, just the flies of me, the dogs and me. The grasshoppers give a great chase. Our feet bare, the courtyard of a holiday inn bare, save for our voices. The salt cutting the grapefruit, the liquors. My mind beginning again after air-conditioned dreams, the sweat congealing me cold, soaking a dress till freezing. A fly walks on my lemon, and I am fully alive in a chickenless existence. Thriving in pastels, in arizona keeping me her prisoner once more.