She sleeps naked
on top of her sheets
in the summer
and early autumn.
At night tan lines appear
around her ******* like pockets of daisies
patched in grass fields.
Her dreams glide on a warm breeze
from the window left of her toes
to the one above her head.
Tonight she dreams of travel,
of Columbus, being the only woman
on the Santa Maria when it falls
off the edge of a flat Earth
into Neptune's orbit.
She awakes face down
painted in clear sweat
along her spine
to the smell of dry leaves
clung to her window.

More than ***
with Anne Hathaway,
more than tic tac toe
with John Malkovich,
I need a ******* sandwich.
Wheat white rye I don't give a ****
give me whatever loaf you have
grains wheat
flour water
make me bread and stick
some meat in between.
Anything
roast beef
capicola
ham

wait

ham *****.

Anything but ham,
it reminds me of Mia.
Give me mustard
yellow like **** but tasty
not tested
give me ketchup
lipoproteins or fiber
lettuce tomatoes make it seem healthy
but layer it with mayo
saturate that fat
fill me up
with a ******* sandwich.

The smell of swiss fondue
a chocolate fountain
moist strawberries
angel food cake.
The smell of brunch buffet
apple turnovers
honey sliced ham
bacon and eggs.
The smell of exhaust
as we walk
to the chapel
up Oliver Street.
The smell of flowers
rainbowed daises
heart shaped lilies
a single red rose
on the broach
of your six year old
brother.
The smell of family
friends neighbors.
The smell
of your six year old
sister
beautiful Easter dress
sky blue ribbons
silk bonnet
blonde hair
smooth skin embalmed
because leukemia
doesn't smell.
Today
we will all
believe in God
or pretend
at least
for you, her sister,
her mother,
her father,
her twin brother,
and for Ruthie,
her chest buried
in tear soaked flowers
in a four foot casket.

The curves on a brachiosaurus
make Queen Latifah seem like a beach towel.
The jaws on a tyrannosaurus rex
make Jay Leno augment his chin.
The spikes on a stegosaurus
make Travis Barker shave his head.

Latifah Leno Barker
hunt for dino flesh
like aboriginals
chase mammoth with sticks
stones and fire dances.


Yeah, I'd pay to see that.

I drove the rental car through a tree
as we continued on towards the ranch.
Saddled up hand measured horses and rode through the park.

Monster trees would have shadowed skyscrapers.
The bravest of birds nested only halfway,
for even feathered wings stall at that altitude.

The damnedest thing was the pine-cones,
golf ball-sized spheres
falling from giants.


It's a bumpy ride on a leather saddle,
a bit painful, too.
You smirked and said you needed a drink,
hell, so did I.

Later in Eureka California we walked to Ray's Saddle,
an old western bar with a wooden red patio,
fake cowboy mannequins gracing the entrance
pistols drawn, not ready to fire.

Our dry mouths megan to irrigate,
our sore bottoms limped through the door,
and the damnedest thing;
the bar stools were rawhide saddles.

I ate your spinach
because it was there
and you, like an anorexic rabbit,
ignored it, and motioned to my plate.
You said,

How can you go on
living like a priest
in a *******?
Temptation after temptation,
yet still you stay celibate,
your tissues clean of *****,
your hands folded above the waist,
as calloused as your traveled feet.

When does the bird fall it's offspring from the nest
in a spring with a shortage of worms?

I have no idea
what it is like
to be *****.
I can't imagine
cooperating
while a man
thrusts his *****
inside of me.
Or even worse,
not cooperating,
and while I kick,
scream, and claw,
he yells ****
and treats me
like he would
a grapefruit
or clementine -
peeled and devoured.

I have no idea
what it is like
to have been *****.
I can't imagine
telling anyone
I was used
or I was tortured
and bled and cried.
Or even worse,
seated in a court
surrounded by people
who have come to know
everything about my body
and psychological well being
as the man
who ***** me
sits in a Calvin Kline suit
twenty feet away
behind a cherry table.