playing snowball fight with myself as a child;
now i'm taking the lower ground
as he curiously rolls a snowball down
the hillside.

accumulating
**** and sticks
and grass and dirt–
for Oklahoma, the land of my youth,
never sees more than twelve inches of snow–
it overtakes me.

and from the nucleus of that humongous ball
i curse the child,
wishing death and hellfire upon him.

he only cries harder
as the black avalanche consumes reality.

an exercise in trust:
her white nisan maxima speeds down the roadway.
speeding away from my sixty-dollar loan?
speeding away from my repayment?

i say:
check your pockets!
                                             check your purse!
              check your wallet!
                                  check between the seats!
                            there it is.

why am I here anyway?
choose one of the following: (desperation/generosity)
__

the maxima now wanders aimlessly
through unknown city streets
far from home
on the laziness of pet merchants:
an exercise in trust.
__

a fib is told, biding for time
two
three
a hundred fibs for the hundred unwary,
an exercise in fate.

A book of Shakespeare
being used
to prop up a television antenna

Mindy takes a seat opposite me,
as if we're about to engage in some serious conversation.
Christmas carols would make the background stale
if there was no twist to them.
"Thanks for buying the ice cream," she reiterates for the fourth time,
her potential lover-girl Jaclyn repeating the sentiment half-heartedly.

"It's no problem."
I reply with my usual comeback.
"I'm sorry Daniel couldn't come.
He had excuses
akin to my last three boyfriends,
and you know how long those lasted.
It's enough to make me want to go straight."

"I can make you straight."

"What?"

"What?"

And we continue as if nothing happened.
Jaclyn eats her ice cream as Mindy shares hers with me.
It has a twang to it, a strange flavor she made herself
that you wouldn't expect to be so good until you tried it.

Deep in my core, that ice cream sent a chill through my body–
a chill of uncertainness.

I was hungry
so I made myself a sandwich
with bread (from a bag)
and meat (from a bag)
and cheese (from a bag)
and in the sixth or seventh bite, found
a bit of bone crushed up inside.
I ate it
while why screen played out
my life
my friends
my ***
my dreams in front of me–
a portrait of Utopia.

I needed to move,
so I sat
in a car, cursing the wind.
I drove down Main Street
to see the park, Illuminated.
I needed expression
so I came back
to the place where I waste my life
to write a poem.

I require exercise
and so I will run
on a treadmill
and go nowhere for twenty minutes.

Pink: the color they hid from me in the days of dewy youth.
But what I see as pink may be a yellow, green, or blue.
My eyes don't deceive me;
I think yours do: you have not the slightest clue.

Pink: the aid in love's elusion.
Pink the way and pink the means
by which I loved at last!
Still, they all insisted on my blueness
while emboldening dividing lines
dividing most of human kind.
Open minds will quickly find
that nothing and yet everything is pink.

And I loved him as a human,
not an object of desire.
His knees must be weary:
sore from bowing.
He found god between my thighs,
but I found Love between his lungs.
It's okay– at least I felt something.
And now he just abandons me
and -silence- ends my fantasy
and I can see reality.

Could I, would I sacrifice
a stable mind
for one last night?
Would that I could sleep so fine as to
not rely on him beside me,
emboldening dividing lines
dividing most of human kind.
Open minds should quickly find
that nothing and yet everything is pink.

Everything is pink (and yet nothing).
Is it too revealing?