big rubby

sitting on the front balcony in the wet wet wet wet we're buggybodied
insects
sliding legs against wings against hair! in wave clouds, soundclouds
  like little pour cloud passing over the house
solid mists between
biting my sunset
the significant gray lavender
rubbing hairs with a gray butter peach
  where we are,

office motto

I really do think the temperature has changed

this is my office, now

officer stoddard

in a hoodie that has the little mini zip

beneath where the hoodsides meet

I really don't like it, too much a polyblend for my taste

and also I don't know about a hoodie, messes yer hair

not if you have cop hair

it feels like a summer storm, but it's spring, still.

the sky is a breeze gray & the dead n alive trees up in my office

they sway

in a wanting to be in a storm kindof way

so will I, then

poem(s) for yellow

from crepuscular orations

with little squares of yellow light, like the background of a play.
lesser yellowlegs
yellowthroat
greater yellowlegs
yellow ribbon lichen,
yellow ribbon lichen.
a yellow corona tee-shirt with cutoff sleeves.
he wore a yellow
to Yellowstone at freezing temps,
folded delicately between the now yellowed pages.
The blue yellow gray between the shades fades.
his beautiful yellow labrador;
kicks the yellow dog out of the way and exits the building.
To him, my butteryellow bandana.
yellow trees,
yellow slowmotion leaves falling.

from momentos preciosas

green and yellow peppers
yellow winter remaining

the real really happening

The new day, old songs. Is it easy to tell, now? Until tomorrow. If it has been at least two weeks, and untrustable they are to bring the truths to us. How truthful is enough. How much does one say to make another comfortable. How often does one say it before lying. How likely am I thoughtless of the others. How deep am I swimming in it. How much does he mean it. How real is really happening. 

Gravity, and the slides in my head through the night. I dreamt of charles last night again; it had been years since we've seen one another, and he lived in a bus or a plane where I peed on the carpet, then shrugged it off coffee spilt from the real gray cup from which I absolutely drank throughout the short night... here there was also a tiny espresso machine... and he familiar height & body of years and years and years. I kissed myself upon waking.