books give me art
kisses give me art
art thou not daddling and dabbling and doobling
in and around with
all these weird juices in my brain?
squeezing out the extras
like the last of the soup?
i see little wood animals jumping in the puddles
and leaving colored feetsprints all over the walls

but all i can hear is you

now i spit it all out
real words float off my tongue
drenched and heavy with happiness
they fill the room with comfortable thick air
i know it because i feel it
my words dance around
first circling my body
then clacking along the hard white floor
until they reach the stubble on your chin
and nudge you gently, but persistently
like a kitten might
they beg you to play
to breathe
to love

my words have been dancing for so long
they run in circles
and entertain themselves
for the sake of them
and you
but they tire
and my chest aches from their heavy haul

feeling good and feeling feelings and kissing boys and daytime dreaming

i am the at the bottom of the bucket
waiting for you to make your way to me
and pick
me
up

a brute
a beast
(a being of fear)
fiend
for a snack
-- and a midday's' beer
first breakfast (second breakfast) (third breakfast) (four)
hide behind curtains
at the knock of your door

there's a parade full of biggs and goblins and bums
there's a shelf in the corner with gins and rums

there's a bite in the cake, where the sweetness lay
there's a bite in my throat, where the lord fangs prey

there's a fairy who sits and never tells
there's a boy who's been sent to all seven hells

there's big ears and hairy arms and floppy feet
and there's upside-down heads and kisses where the lips meet

If I could talk to earth
I would buy her a drink, and woo her in a stream where just maybe
she’d open up to me the chambers of her house
and let me take a look around
I would chase her through the jungle-wood and spanish moss
And I’d even let her chase me back
Maybe most importantly of all I would tell her I’m sorry under one of her honest apple trees
Because I didn’t mean for her to get sick
I’d lure her with me,
skipping
with my tickled mind and pocket of questions
And we could go ride a wave,
somewhere good

when life gets mad at me, I kiss him on the cheek
and tell him how beautiful he is when he smiles
I tell him sometimes he needs to count down from 10
because anxiety gets all of us,
he’s nothing special
I read him stories, and recite him Grilfindol and Alphrondage
and  I tell him everything my mom told me
and some of what my dad told me
sometimes he hides
and I have to run after him until my legs are jelly
he never stays mad for long

boys seem to be much riper
and ready to eat
after i've buttered them up a little bit
maybe with a cheap beer
a little nudge on the stomach
a lesson on spell-checking

"take off yours first" he yells

(my bottoms are off before he finishes)

i guess i like the boys the will play games with me
and laugh when i tell a joke or don't tell a joke
and don't mind when i shake my *** all up in the air

he will ask me to see who can get undressed the quickest

and i wade in a lake
already naked

crooked teeth but pretty lips biting into a sweet slice of cheesecake
that sounds good
i will do that
when takers become givers
and old men stop snoring and
bus 39 stops being late
old ladies with young problems like to crochet
and sad men do comedy
faces in the sheets and ceilings and clouds and even
in    between
my legs
get lost in the abyss of strange
in my delicate brain
and ashed-on layers

i swear i could take a bite out of you

i know that all your kisses and your kisses and your kisses
in the rain and in my bed and in your car
pile up and wake me in the mornings
and paint me a curious picture
of a salacious dreamland
and a sweet demise

sometimes I'm running around in a field I have never seen before
and my body hurts like mashed potatoes
So I sit down
and the ground underneath me crumbles
and I fall down until the everything is orange and
my brain is on backwards
Then I look down at myself
and I have no belly button and no fingertips
and,
in fact, -
I'm in a thousand tiny little pieces on the ground

and I can't even put myself back together

throw me away like a carton of bad eggs
and rip me off like the hanging thread on your sweater
I've melted too many times under the heat of your being
scrape me off the plate like i'm nothing
(except for maybe the really nice bits)
and toss me like yesterdays paper
eat me in the morning
and spit me back out at night
it doesn't matter
because like the girl at the bus stop on Tuesdays
like the man in search of the answers to todays puzzle
I will always be waiting