What's goose

Hey it's my first time blogging from my iPhone. Pretty cool! Look at that autocorrect just going apes hit! I'm sitting in front of my job on Dryades St in New Orleans Louisiana, it's about 9:56 pm, I'm drinking a strawberry beer and am about to light up a light blue American Spirit cigarette. I unbuttoned the top button of my first (of 3) denim Cherokee brand skirts, on account of being bloated, on account of having my menses. The sounds of crickets and other southern summerbugs rubbing theirs thighs on winds and wings together about me. I made $54 in tips tonight at my job which is easily 2.5 times the amount of tips I normally make. On account of a group of parent-like people having a really truly great time. They applauded, blew kisses as they left. I was a little jealous, they were out in the backyard eating pAninis and bruschetta and other Italian delicacies, and hey were smiling and laughing and, as one of them put it, having such a blast. There was even a giant fan blowing over them.

I'm being destroyed by mosquitoes, too, and the insides of my ears hurt because I sleep with plugs wedged in there on account of my boyfriend who snores and I who can't sleep with rhythmic body sounds about me. But that's all alright. It's called love, and I've for the moment a livingroom, and a couch in it that I can smother into. I just took a sip of beer and it went down as they say, the wrong pipe. I don't care, the displeasure is nearly gone now. Now just back to the squitoes, smoke in my eye.

It's a classic New Orleans summer night, and I say y'all at least twice a day because it rolls out of a summer mouth! It's all fine by me. 

A man just rode slowly by on his bicycle, wanted to sell me a nice push-button umbrella for $3, he is trying to get him some chicken. I do want a nice push-button umbrella; it hasnt rained on me in 3 days which is highly unusual for a typical summer in the sub-tropics. But I have no way of carrying one. I do wish I had given him the $3, though. And I don't have an umbrella when I need one, of course.

Yes, it's shaping up to be quite the typical late July night in the southern USA.

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,

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

what can't I say?

when I have all of the words? your songs make me butterfly in all of the tips of me. the rush of paper wings in veins. I am so in love, all of the time, & with everything. here I sit, in unionbay tee, with hat & frenched braid through the hole, listening to a song that MIGHT make you happy, MIGHT make you cry, and we both be nostalgic. & still we never, ever, ever meet. I have the regular liquors, the cocktail, the bourbon, the herbs from your crying garden. stay here! you wail, shirt longer than your shorts. but of course, I have to go now. but why? you cry out, as I pull those plump little cherry tomatoes from their vines. bye    bye