What’s wrong with me? I’ve been asking myself this all week.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I weigh questions coldly and logically. Then it hit to me.. it’s summer, silly, and I'm in classes!

A typical summer would find me tanned, sunburned, greased and unkempt, like a happy, sandy, beach hobo, my hair would be either braided or left fly-about to tangle into cotton candy wads.

My bf Peter’s learned to like fine restaurants (You’re welcome). I’d have never left the beach on my own.
“They can bring us anything,” I’d argue, looking up pitiably from my shaded, Tropitone lounge chair.

Around sundown, Peter would have to catch me, slippery oiled and brown, to comb me out and scrub me before dinner.
“Get dressed!” he’d encourage, picking out a dress suitable for dining or casino wear - “I made us a reservation.”

I’d come out of the hotel en-suite in one of their fluffy, Versace, terry towels but invariably, before I was even dry,  Peter would shake his head, growl and say, “Com-mere,” holding his arms out a little, palms up
(he’s never been very verbose), and smirking a little, I would, because his expression reminded me of Christmas.
“What about our reservation?” I’d chuckle.

This was, of course, a volunteer situation, where it was up to us all to do our best.
.
.
Songs for thus:
Girls On the Beach by Carter Cathcart
Wouldn't It Be Nice by Papa Doo Run Run
Please Let Me Wonder by Carter Cathcart

All songs are sad, the poems aren’t better.
Maybe I should remake them all?
Re-write, re-concoct, re-live, re-slobbered!
Maybe they should be re-baked in whole?

So that instead of the night there’s the sun!
And in place of the blizzard there’s summer.
And no sadness! Out with the blues!
No more tears! No ill lucks and dramas!

And what about love? We’ll keep it on!
But let’s go and change my loving colors!
Instead of the rain and sleepless nights,
We’d paint white camomiles and flashy covers.

The wind would always be tail-on,
And love would live into old life.
Cinnamon, almond, vanilla aromas…
Am I right? Is that the smell of happy life?

I’ll write such “love story”, where they both
Love each other and were both faithful.
The sun shines brightly, birds sing clearly,
And they both live till their death in full.

I’ll finish writing this loving poem
And put it on the back shelf grandly.
I can be inaccurate, but I don’t like it.
And in my poems I won’t lie fully!

All songs are sad, the poems aren’t better.
I won’t remake them all in no way.
I love and I write my fanciful life!
And I will do it further alway!

As the story goes
Once in devils due
The secret chord
Guitar been tuned.

As did I I am sure
you heared it too
About crossroads
About the blues.

As the story goes
From late till soon
Midnight to come
Be found with you.

As did I I am sure
That you did too
Played to the dawn
Best you could.

As the story goes
Waited through
As bobby johnson
As howlin wolf

As did I I am sure
Nor you a clue
But think to know
Thought knew

As the story goes
Man ask you
To hand it over
Then you do

As did I I am sure
Everyone would
As the deal closed
Played first tune

As the story goes
Once in devils due
Forever be at owe
Forever beautiful

As did I I am sure
God understood
Loving borrowed
Felt just as good

As the story goes
One bout the fools
At every won
Much they loose

As did I I am sure
My soul did too
As blue the gold
While green the blue

As the story goes
Once in devils due
The whole world
In heart bein fooled

As did I I am sure
Had many confused
As the sayin goes
Last joke be on you

As the story goes
And if death refuse
As to dare to cross
What devil took

As did I I am sure
Just as you would
Forget turn a stone
While laying roots

As the story goes
Trees bare fruit
In debt with soul
Be bad be good

As did I I am sure
That we all had to
At last had come
Oh so free and true.

Deep down, from the river, from the black earth
From Mississippi mud to Chi town streets
Slow, and rhythmic, ****** beats.
A man stands,  late to his own show,
and declares to the audience below
that he is a Man. Spelled M, A, N.
We believe. His mastery,  presence,
husky voice. The essence
of Man. And what the men don’t know–
the little girl understands. It’s my first show
without my parents. My brother's there.
A man sitting near us shoots up–I stare,
as smoke of cigarettes and **** fills the air.
A packed crowd, eager to see
one of the last of the greats, history.
But no nostalgic, fleecing tour is this .
One of Muddy’s last is still at the top of my list.

Blues on Monday.
The cats run to me
for pieces of chicken,
and a little B.B. King.

Blues on Tuesday.
I look in the yard for
rubies, and all I find are
hard-boiled eggs.
Pagans hid them in the
grass during their
Eostre festival.

Blues on Wednesday.
Muddy watered coffee.
I ain't even getting out of
this bed.

Thursday's blues bring
rain and that old
Robert Johnson.
**** the crossroads and
all those poison *******.
Grab Blind Lemon and help
him to the campfire.

Hey, Sonny Boy, get that
mouth harp out and start to
wailing.
Those fat frogs are hopping
around for them snakes at
the Friday barn dance.

Saturday is finally here.
Buddy Guy and
John Lee ****** burning up
that devils note--the flat five.
You know you sold your soul.
Here comes Lightning.

Better take Sunday off, we need
some churching up.
Do some praying before we
all go to hell.

I read some poetry
That everyone said
I should like

I’m sorry
But I guess I needed to be
High on *** and *****
Like I was when I enjoyed
The Muddy blues

Now that means
Nothing to me
Just like this poetry
You said to read

Not that I have anything
Against Muddy
But, I didn’t need no
Touch of the ****
To enjoy the music
Of the ****** man
Johnny Lee

Stir and Mix
Stir and Mix,
Keep your head down
Cuz’ hell you’re helping them drown.

Shake and Pour
Shake and Pour
Not your fault if they fall
Just wipe the counter s’more

Wipe and Scrub
Wipe and Scrub
It’s no wonder you feel undeserving
Of their love

Turn and Lock
Turn and Lock
“Congrats Kid, you’re off the clock”

~
Maternal midnight

Metallic lakeside

Freon heart, fayence mind

Eyelids of iron ore

Influence feet into the water

Into an embargo bay

Clear and innocuous, innocuously blind

Hills like white elephants on a polar plateau

Mosquitos on her mouth

Drink the blood of encryption

Change the tone of her voice

They pass behind the blue vein

Become infinite particles of her
~