minnesota

I'm on the phone with shareowner services

through a bank

across the country somewhere, classical piano...

ahhh! those tickle keys

and a woman keeps interrupting the piano

to announce that my call is very important to them

and that a customerserviserepresentative will be with me

in the order I was received

& I think, my call should be answered in the order in which it was received, see

so I'm already incredulous

like how do I really know these guys are legit?

If you're worth billionz, get a grammarian on board

Awhile later she begins to give me addresses and phonenumbers,

and I'm clearly dealing with some depressed midwestern robot 

and I've never heard anyone say zero like this before

but that's how I guess they do in St. Paul.

I've been to St. Paul once, it was in February, and there was the ideal

Minnesotan snowstorm, so all of the roads were white thick,

and all of the thousands of lakes had fishinghuts & fires burning on them.

The blanket sidewalks had skiers on them. Such a place!

I drove a drunk guy home in his car 

and he told me that I didn't need to worry about stopping for red lights

that in this kind of weather, you go slow & peer & just keep going slow.

(with all of these billionz, you'd think I'd get a grammarian on board!)

St. Paul, Minnesota is also the only place I've played big buck hunter in my life. 

Someone answered! but...

it had to have been the same Minnesotan robot

Her winsome whiny decantering a

her overround lowered o

I think everyone should move away from where they were raised

she ought not to be in Minnesota

I ought not to be here

so sue me, I'm getting alllll that $$$

so let's gooooooooooooooooooooooo

mine sky is falling

...it will end, but not this second. they remain! & I thought all day, what next will I do? I'll have to start to try. It'll start to try on me. all the anxiety at where will you go & are you gone? & then the popmusic station plays the right track, and I am right on track towards home, and then I see the familiar whip and finally I let a tear fall, in thankyou, in why oh why. & the smiling faces of my familiars, my little sweets still here. How lucky to have it still. I won't be worried anxious again until tomorrow, it means. one more night of longhair, of beards, of feasts. of warm thick shoulders. no one ever reads me, & if you did I'd tell you the same, anyhow. just glad you get to be together, again. to have your thick shoulders to hold with one another, again. & how I wish I could be sandwiched between all of the world's thick shoulders and locks and beautiful, varicolored beards.

until tomorrow, & the crash of the smokyblue idaho sky on mine wet old face.

for me

I was drunk last night-

 this one’s for me. do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

Sometimes I think I know everything,

sometimes it’s later at night, during the time a moon normally shows,

especially when on nights before so strong a moon shone,

and sometimes, too, it’s distracting when everyone else can say it earlier than I, and

who cares? the smell is there, and I have the olfactory moments in me thick & true,

and by the by telling you that I am here in the woods, with a laptop

which somehow seems perfect

because I am no earth mother

I am a Typist

and the delete key, the letters lit up, are the tools that keep em going

when I could just sleepingbag out right now on a T on a lake, waves lapping

lapping lapping sloshing, all night long

Instead, I am here, soberest, knowing. You know, I know.

But sober enough to know that you don’t really know.

I see better with my eyes closed,

with my head sort of

with my heart an open hand. if that would near it, what I try to say

OH

and fail to say.

Sorry if you don’t, because I always will. & so glad you don’t, so I’ll never have to.

My dog has these

these

these

these words are so unimportant to her!

o nevermind, the world won’t end before I remember what I was going to say.

a poem for lips

from crepuscular orations

the last kiss, the mouths & lips.
those lips.
his huge lips smacking for no reason.
his lips... his mediocre hypochondria
on my lips, on my genitalia, on my beings.
Your lips & your height aren't going to be enough for me.
Your lazy lips letting themselves be,
his lovely full lips and curly dark hair.
Where mouths biting and lips everywhere,
like the flat lips of a fish
but what if I reached across the bar there and touched his lips...
This is lips are awesome, oh, why don't I have thick, full lips just for this purpose...
using my mouth and tongue and lips as they're meant to be used.
My mouth and lips and tongues over his,
my lips are sealed.
What's with the seven little kisses on my lips?
Lips in slight smile.
Lovely full lips parted,
his breath I dislike and his lips are soft and formless.
His lips want to make someone fall in love with him.
He uses lips with what they are and tongue sparingly.
He kissed me very softly on the lips and I saw animated triangles.

hello, beautiful

Why? Because my blood is thick. I have all these tortured organs, I know it. I make them whipped. They ache, but with smiles across them. My sweet little heart getting big on itself. Making hard itself. That tumescent little thing. My mouths filled with apologies which fall out and disappear on a breeze. No one will hear! not even my own opened ears. My filthy fingers reaching for yours. Your cups in mine. Mine own overflowing. The quiet cold, my heartattack building, the mossy breeches of the nailed fingers, traipsing, traipsing toward yours. Yonder fingers tracing over mine mossy knuckles. But this is love, no? shall we argue? Nothing in me is for an argument. I give up, relentless, restless, accepting, open, whole, heartedly, whole. The whole hole filled with heartblood, gushing, retracting, sucking itself off. Never relenting, never detumescing. The various plaids of my outershells, my chitinous fibres. My camouflage, our matching stripes and shades. I will be there, you know it. I will scrape you off, when you need it. I will sing when you like me, I will look when your eyes are away. And still keep it when they turn back towards, inevitably. Do you still read me now?

the excitement of the outback steaks & the smile I can makes

I'm going to put these words away, now. I want to experience some facts, now! and for once. Today I am going out in the world, but with a bike for the weather's too much for experience. I'd feel guilty leaving it behind.

When I last looked for employment, I went on a long, rainy january carride to beaverton. It was a westy's, or maybe... are there westy's in beaverton? It was a big bowling alley, supercorporate. I fell in love immediately. I fell in love driving, actually, the rain beating against shoddy wipers, the cliffs of the freeway climbing, climbing in the dark around, and the forest surrounding. I thought beaverton might be a romantic little sanctuary, buried in the lush of north oregon, the layers of soil and dirt brimming with life, earthworms, beetles, ferns of every sort. But was I surprised, then? After the long drive I knew that if my future workplace was in fact going to be this particular bowling alley, my forced lunches & dinners would be fries and outback steaks.

But my confidence! oh, I knew it, I just knew they'd want me. I was perfect. I would wear skirts, and have a nice haircut, and I'd be younger & cuter than the rest, and the patrons at the westy's bar would just love me. I'd keep the crowds thick. I'd keep them coming. Of course they'd see this clearly! The line in which I waited for my three-minute interview was one-hundred people long.

Today, I have this path to go along the boise river, and somewhere, over in the worthlessness of parkcenter boulevard, I'll creep alongside the red robin, smile a smile I can smile, and show them how fucking retardedly able to welcome rich douchebags to a restaurant am I. How capable, and how thrilled, even! I can smile and smile and smile. Just keep the bruise-tattoos and armpits to a minimum. Minimum is a pretty word.

millions of wild forevers

for #28

million, forevers

desert skin, ocean eyes, but

Hearts can't hold time.

for #13

your wild dog ways, the

desperation thrive.

smell in mint inspiration

for #11

forever the first

the red awake of Being

entangled to death

for #3

and so you were thick

like an adult in me, blood

and pink on the floor

Ha

if my vagina could talk it would scream

It's just minutes later and I want to welcome you all, mainly myself, to my new blog, though I hate the word and wish I could find some other, a pun, even. But unfortunately nothing blogical comes to mind, I'll infact undoubteldly have to deal only with what I've created. 

I am going out on a limb here, and every kitten knows a branch must be thicker than the average to hold more than one. 

Thanks! Can't want to have a new  thing to do