no prob

hey pretty getreal
we have to $$ too much
I always hated air conditions
but I moved to the south, to the endless summer so
we pump her up
I don't like to sleep enclosed is a room without windows
is hard for me, for my want of fresh breaths but
the buggies
they fly invisibly in
and suck at my ankles
at the underside of a toe.
so seal up we do.
but we can't afford it anymore, controlling our climate.
so now it's a heavy 85 degrees
both in the house & out of the house
at 74 percent humidity
rains in waves
I don't mind it at all. covered by 150 yrs of balcony
but
inside my skull it's humidest
and I can't defog it
I don't bite my fingers anymore, too relaxed to chew me up.
leave that for the buggies.
I've got nothing wrong. I'm adaptable, you know.

hey, romance

I love
sitting in a car and drinking
outside the new orleans food coop
84 degrees
77% humidity
windows down, listening to Active Child
I like Active Child because it might
be the super-genuine
it might also be
the sarcastic type of falsetto


I went to the bywater
with a two-babe entourage
in cloud shirt, mulberry skirt
& the other, in the dragonfly print dress my Auntie Sue gave me for christmas
I think she should wear it always


I, like the others like me,
like the bywater, what little I've seen
for it's sprawling bed-stuyness,
for
that we're foreign & safe & unsafe & belong & really don't
like, we can & do afford your neighborhood
so adopt it for our art studios
& our coops
in our glasses sliding off our humidface,
disinterested, jaded, working

I'm sitting in my subaru legacy outback
smoking black american spirits
drinking a la 31 boucanee smoked wheat ale from a sweating bottle
awaiting my sexy entourage
thinking about us
midsummer us
some energies
  are up
I'm trying to get them
I'm displaced & sidesmiling about that
I've cheers to make up
I'm a girl with a cause
I'm a fitting in I don't fit in here
I'm shopping around, taking advantage
of my natural
  luck
& my born-in guilt is all overme
all over one only subaru in town,
  we drove it here
this is a chant
this is a waving regular flag
these songs are our songs
how many times a day can I mention I've been to college? I've been to 3 colleges
where'
s my college?
it's serendipity, that I'll sing
song it through all of the
most obvious
  cloud
  & voice it all out of
my wet wet wet
upper
  lip

it's humid

it used to fuel, it is letting itself go, look at it
all shab, all grub
it's avoiding the mirror lately
it hasn't any pets anymore
everyone's in a flat great fucking mood
puddles are lying
reflections of trees
like our CITY OF TREES tattoos we're getting
it rained very early this morning
I want to know how to barometer
how to measure the letting-yourself-go
in length of body hair?
in width of copper chain stain on dirt neck?
in amount of bodyodor emanating?
in a caliper of fatroll?
I just googled the word WHATEVER
but I haven't checked the results
it's 70 degrees, 53% humidity in boise
it's 97 degrees, and only 47% humidity in new orleans
I know how to do this in the wet
so let's get it ONNNNN

new orleans

the universe is trying to tell me

the universe is telling, urging me

that here, it only gets bad before it gets worse

that these brainjolts are the spark

because, come on now I'm an engine

  so

let's hotbox the cadillac

let's mildly check that sunset from a cornereye

let's put those rugs we found in the upper upper cabin bedroom

  on the 200 yr floors in our new apartment

let's ride the goddam streetcar

admire the great muddy

crack exoskeletons in the dingy dim dreamed-of divebar

curtains of smoke drifting lazily

we'll sit around, sit about

we'll sit all over the place

fantasize about the escaping from city life

eating sandwiches on pontoons

we'll meet fat new bugs

and that rich-weather

the I'm-holding-you-now weather

let's choke on humidity

on coffee by the emptying

let's fishtail around the festival goers

and get wealthy on bourbon

let's get tall

taller than whatever buildings

and we'll crush the catacombs & crypts

slaughter the sarcophagi 

mush the mausolea

turn bones to dirt to under our fingernails to our mouths in our gullets

& reproduce it all through our skin

respirating 

and then we'll watch a jazz band

  and we'll make fun of the saxophone

and we'll hear some blues on the street

  and look wildly about, calling out names

and maybe we'll drown

or blow away

or 

or

or

maybe 

  maybe we'll really like it there

talkaway the nighttime

do I know what to makeout of you? not even trying, but desperate to. I have the familiar glasses, the quench, and maybe the too-many mentionings, but I am still in one place, and you have left already. but my place is still on the warm, late-night pavement, and my heart still beats beneath a barefoot, but yours has wilted in the slightest in the clearest, and it has begun some slither towards away. even the foods I want don't exist. is it the overabundance, the apostrophes, the apostrophe's. I don't remember you like I should, only I could see perfectly in gesticulations, in caricature. this looks french. your beard in your bathroom, in your couch, in your shower making your hair in snakes, your sad mouth, your eyes looking because they do, right. I can answer that question even if we never speak anymore, still. did we argue into the morning? did we disappear into the morning?

tell me I'm right tell me I'm wrong tell me there's nobody else in the world & who could care? longhair, louisville, mymorningjacket is playing on tuesday

how many of us are there? & you do sometimes tell. but it's cryptic, it's deathly, it's in the ground for you already. but I amn't. & I will try to never will be. I will outlast the saddest-most, the fingers-through-my-hair-most. the ones with the eyecontact, the ones with the hands twice as big hands, long & thin ones too. tendrils in humidity. fine in the talking small. & I know not how to hideaway.

I'm elevated

Thanks for all the notice. The honey of sonoran bees. The limes, the sparkling metal of a cup. My beringed fingers, the faces in memory. The old ones, the nonresponses. How can you have so many histories, so close together like that? Hiding out in the cool humidity, seeing the sun out there & fighting it, the money, the food, the apologies, the wanting to get it all over with & good. Avoidance of goodbyes, the patience in hellos. Your hair is short your hair is long. Your hair is aubergine, it is curls. It is thick & your head is large, it isn't changed, but you with guns, now. The new me, the new her, and the shes in between. The ancient heart of yours still there & with it. The love interests never losing any. Multiples. I am here, on this couch constant, getting stirred from ahead, waiting till body to catch on.