Follow a poet for a day,
write a sonnet or
something universally beautiful.

I cut my bangs,
count to two.
Find myself with too much
time in the morning
sand in my socks,
dishes to do.

Walking heel-toe heel-toe
through the kind of grass
that reaches for  your calves and
stands to your knees.
A collection of heartbeats
melting into AM radio.
Dark velvet dreams
long enough to bury your fingers in,
carpeting every bit of the floor.

Wafting streams of woven gasps
knees touching,
appreciating green.

Top button undone
eyebrows receding into the hairline
with an ear pressed to the glass.
Fear of nutmeg
clawing at my apathy,
remembering the west coast.