"what, you're too good to say 'good morning' to me?"
     she asks me as she slumps through
     the front doors of work.

"no."
     I say,
"you didn't hear me say it back?"
     . . . she didn't.

some people try
     to drag everything
into their own collapsing
     star.

     but I brush it off and
               walk away, successfully
          escaping her gravitational
               pull.

later, minding my own
     ****-stick, she fires another
     shot,
     "you sure have a chip on your shoulder today,  I'm staying out
     of your way!"

this time I don't
even acknowledge
                         her **** bird trying
                         to land on me,
                                                  just smile right
                                                  through her.





I turn my
head to
look
outside.  

the smeared
clouds are
rippling in
a smooth cadence
of anticipation.  



a storm is coming . . .
it's gonna be a good one.

I wanna eat something
but it won't fill me up
only drag me down.

you believe i am the artist
i am just a dumb baby with an anchor for a mouth
it drags me down
to the bottom of the ocean
i can't get myself out

Pluck one
Then two
Drag them out
As long as you want
Play the song of their hearts
Feelings as tight as you tuned them
Draw them in
So taunt
Until the chord breaks

She is here
my own true sun
she loves so daft
that dawn springs forth
and before I die
she'll really eat pie
with her cute rind
and buffalo trim
that grocers hunker tide
while business bona fide
in her hand over rib