the universe is trying to tell me

to have a happy birthday,
what does the universe tell you?

there's this awful person
she's my mother's realtor
she wears a visor and a vest and has a lexus mini suv, but this isn't what makes her a bad person

we were reading about her type in this self-help book at the cabin, The Dance of Anger: A Woman's Guide to Changing the Patterns of Intimate Relationships

she's a Blamer

I knew she'd try to make me cry

but I just feel a wind at me to get me going now

like all of everything & everyone I know here is pushing me gently to an edge

and I'm supposed to fall crash fly whatever

but what the fuck ever

hey

I'll never be pretty again

hey

I'll have the best bursts

hey

I can explain it all

GTFOOH 

   byedaho

hoodie

 man, I keep leaving the screendoor open

and all of the fly guys keep coming in

and I yell and swish them around but they don't care

fly guys don't care

don't fucking care

FGDC

oh man, I just put on a hoodie

and it's like 80 degrees here on the patio of gayulz club

and I'm wearing a fucking sweatshirt, like who AM I?

I told Nickey her blog is fucking so good

in all caps

and she told me I was drunk

and the cool thing is that I got home from work

and there are watermelon beers in the fridge that I've nothing to do with

and I'm drinking them, but am not drunk

but I'm tryin

ok so it was Nickey

she literally just told me 

that I need to try

try

try 

try.

all I do is try

  

  Last summer around Nickey's birthday I wrote a poem in the blue book she made me for my birthday

  we were sitting by a pool

  I was drinking watermelon beer

  and I was melancholy

  because I felt very like I was in love with someone

  who I knew wouldn't ever be there back with me

  So I wrote down something like

   

    Don't cry

      Let her die

     if the ship has sailed

         say

           Bye Bye

and I didn't realize it rhymed, which instantly makes it a poem,?

& it was later abrevved, tried to become my motto

try, die, bye bye

which is not something I ever had to commit to memory

bc my memory has long forever made me a committer to it

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.