Everything with battery life is dead
turn to light breeze
seemingly clean, cool air

I dreamt of floating down a shallow river
with the current
I held on to distended bank parts
reaching over roots
moss clumps
chunks of connected forest debris
The mud at the bottom of
the shallow river was gush
I feared hidden sharp objects
fishing lines
bottle caps
shards
I clung to the edge of the bank
tried to float my legs over the gush

an eagle flew in front of my face
I swore I saw a great blue heron
or several
or a crane
and all of their babies.

I don’t know what to order so I order the cheapest thing on the menu
I don’t know if you have lotion, but if you do could I use some
you pulled something out of your pocket, that attracts the consumer I’m sure
it looked lip balm, it looked like blush, but it was lotion

you walked me to your place
made me a whisky and soda
you had mint, you put it in
before then I had read about that only in novels
I didn’t go home soon
I was thinking of polyamory, the next morning at noon
the next morning at noon
curly hair, brown skin, brown skin, curly hair
nose ring, curly hair, brown skin, nose ring, and curly hair

guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt in the morning
I’m mourning over my Catholic upbringing
and do I always have to tell the truth when I write something
I don’t wanna drink and drive like I don’t wanna drink and make love
make love with a woman
I don’t wanna drink and just fritter and **** away
******* guilty conscience
you’re wrong socialized conscience

let me dip my feet, let me submerge

Aside from the tea
the hot soothing tea
a kind of scorching bitterness
was searing
inside of my stomach
the bitterness, like a sore bump on the mouth,
kept me awake at night when I was supposed to be tired

having not gotten the preferred eight and surely not come close to the long sought after nine
hours of sleep, having only gotten the feared six hours  
you can imagine how tired I was supposed to be and perhaps
that is what put me in the searing sauce-pan bitter mood

it was a bitterness infused with guilt and disdain for oneself
and I will admit that only once.
Here’s another thing, too, for anyone who is not a semi close friend and who cares to know
I don’t feel like answering any extra questions that I don’t need to answer because guess what
I might not be in the mood to talk to people that day, especially (I might add) if they are the people who sit at wooden desks with folders of paper and decide whether I might remain at the university.

Yes, I want to glide through unnoticed.
No.
I want to glide through noticed only for my achievements.
My perceived achievements.
No.
My earnest achievements.

I simultaneously try to follow the most convenient path while being exceptionally **** about being exceptional.  Grade cards, capital letters A-F.

I want to be more extreme,
be more *****-nilly with the lexicon, the language,
and say that I am experiencing sheer disgust.

It’s a disgust that prefers to be left alone.
A disgust that yearns for some company, but upon being
surrounded by that company, prefers to be left alone.
But after being left alone, wonders what it might have been like
had it stuck around for a couple more minutes.
I am experiencing the after-effects of dizziness right at this very moment.

It is an uncomfortable and shifty way to live.
An uncomfortable seat on a mode of public transportation,
that’s where I’m sitting and I’m in a fine mood otherwise,
just very shifty.  The shiftiness of it all makes me wonder
whether some of the other passengers may have more comfortable seats.
I think to myself, I think, gee, that person looks awfully comfortable.
I am unlucky.
But then I look again and notice that they couldn’t possibly be completely comfortable,
because the seat has a visible deformity that certainly prevents them from being comfortable.
So it’s okay,
and I feel better because of it.
It’s disgusting.

I harbor this kind of attitude and then what happens is
the fellow passenger exits,
leaving me with the opportunity to test out their seat.
Ah, from afar the seat looked splendid.
Plush, really.
But then I sit down and after a couple of seconds (that’s all it takes)
I realize that sitting in the new seat feels exactly like seating in the uncomfortable seat.
I had thought awful thoughts over at my first seat.
I had thought, perhaps if I criticize the other passenger in regards to the seat (that seat makes your outfit look all wrong...the way you seat in that seat, it’s just kind of, I don’t know, the lighting is off) that they might get up and leave the seat.
But then I sit down and realize that this seat is really no different than the first seat.
I’m just a little kid.

when the musician hits the note perfect
with the accompaniment and the words
a little something inside of me
steps out of the back door, and into a sunny shining
7:30 am summer morning.

Something inside of me takes a bite of
egg yolks cooked with bacon grease.

Something inside of me cruises down hills on a bicycle.
Something holds my little girl hand and jumps into August, Michigan lakes.
Something like warm sheets in the sun.
Something like orange and black birds letting us watch.
A yard sale, or a canoe, or something free.


Something shifts in a comfortable bed, and regains consciousness.
Something drives through rain but can still see clearly.
Something cooks and bakes.

My organs feel pressure and pleasure-pain.
They grasp for more of that sound.
They compel me to shut my eyes and reopen them.
They let little sighs escape from the back of my throat.

That nearly perfect combination coaxes stuck tears.
It brings back and moves forward all at the same time.
It makes me feel faint and it makes me feel awake.

Older men stand around talking about comics
when I walk in my vision all mute and
dark from the sun I sit in.

I can't recognize their faces, or their
voices and I have nothing to add to their conversation
because it was before my time.

A twig falls
into an oblivious backpack
and leaves a tic.

A package of cigarettes flies out the window of
a five-story building and smacks on the sidewalk,
like spit on some skin.

A scenario:
young, misbehaving child cools off in
a peaceful space, a bean-bag chair.
A premonition.
He’s twenty and wondering, where’s the bean bag now?

Two days of dryly coughing,
so much glowering,
he’s biking in the wrong direction.

“You’re idealistic,” he says to nobody.
He looks out the window, unsatisfied.
He eats a 3-bean salad, unsatisfied.
He adds bacon but it doesn’t matter
because I think he would rather die.

Drove to the grocery store,
the lights were all off
the power went out
the deli was shut down
no cold cuts today.

Walked to the cafe
tripped on the curb
tried to regain balance
and tripped again.
I laughed, but I needed to cry
bad.

Thought it'd be cute to go bra-less this afternoon
turns out my cute little top is scratchy and burning
my **** like mad.
Raw, like my cactus heart.

I can't come
to save my life.
Is anyone hiring?
I'm going to label myself as "sexually frustrated."
I'm going to tell people that.
I'm going to work on my performance
but they all need to work on theirs, too.

At least no one saw me fall
at least I have my trailer park girl sunglasses
at least the power will come back on between 1 and 2 pm.
at least I have a change of clothes
at least I have my hands a pillow for between my legs.