my love
like a garden;

filled with flowers;
find way to them;

my love
Beautiful abandon;

rain them things;
rent these seeds;
should orchids water,

Doldrums.
Discords of Doldrums.
Beautiful. Beautiful.

Phlox Linum,
            Phlox Linum,
            
           som satin south alyssum,
           vivace kiss
          
           weave violin wind ******,
           caress calendula
          
           bloom bow bagatelle
           bloom allegro
           linen Primrose!
        
            Phlox Linum,
            Phlox Linum,

You look at the paintings you were so proud of only a few weeks ago
and you hate them.
You want to spit them in a fire;
as if
erasing them
will deliver you from the embarrassment of ever having created them
and you slaughter your orchids.

You abandon the thought
in realization
that they simply misunderstood
your art.

bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there, on the carpet.
Then on the dresser, the walls, the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,
living on her islands.
Here the sun became barly.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.
Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her matress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

I
the branches don't seem like strangers
they fit in greens, on greens
grass waves there.
Then someone will throw
them away.

lime in the milk of the sun.
            
is it ashamed of the garbage behind it?
                   II
Brisk is the feeling.
sunlight bruises beside the leaf;
below the wind when the breeze meets
each shadow
is like rainfall.
          III
            So it's you
            Baby blue,
            So it's you.

The breeze whisked gentle against the curtains.
Getting subtler, subtler, and subtler.

The sun yawned.

Her window stayed open.

Then the breeze had all together hushed.
So the sun,
spilled into the bedroom.
The floor met the sun,
dancing there,
on the carpet.
Then on the dresser,
the walls,
the bed.
It gave out a long kaleidoscope of ginger and gold,
then distilled into whiskey on Ramona's wrist,

living on her islands. Here the sun became barley.
The hot bed sheet rolled back thinly,
her islands then became a continent.

Ramona lay her arm in a curve.
It was the undressed river of her mattress.
She was asleep in her bed and awoke in the hot lakes where the sun,
peering through the window,
shined in all day.
Now it had died down into a bronze knot of loosened sun.
She lay there watching the last of its exhale.

Here the sun

Then a continent forms in the ripples of hot bed sheet. The sun undresses again while a tide ripples. hot bed sheet rolls back thinly. .
The sun undresses again a tide. lake, ripples  andundressed river of her matress . A  the continent lakes It undressed again into beige, the hot lake on the bed sheet  as  they both exhaled the last of sun. Sure enough, the hour that marked when lamps blunk inside one-by-one began. Their bulbs let out invasions of artificial light.
Everything laminated in.
Into the retinas;
the hair,
skin,
the curtains--
the moths;  
in the *****, blonde synthetic light
waited patiently for the dusk to swash.
the black rivers of night;
she lay there,
on the bed,
with charcoal
and a sketchbook.
He was on his way to her.
Midnight had come. Midnight was a breath of tired darkness.  Midnight was inhaled by the moon. Midnight filled the lungs of the day. Midnight had come.

maybe dos,
obvi!

obvi dune,
moon!

se si!
et mellon
tu,

mi-ta-da

there it is, the big rumor on how to properly be living
on how to properly present the rumor of our selves,
because we really just are a rumor

are you alive? how much of the day-to-day you is real?
how much of you isn't entirely fictitious?

I just feel like im in high school with you
we just kiss and its cool
tender submissions of an endorphin'd heart;
as long as I get one kiss

the truth is we are such insignificant creatures.
       everybody thinks they are the lead role
in the play of life,
that the lights dim
                and they stand on the spotlight of center stage
with an entire audience in front of them, just hanging onto the edges of their seats
               let's change this scenario
                                                      to reality
the curtains fall;

               lights shut off,
there's an auditorium of empty seats

with not even advocation for the slightest moment that air sits here,

              even the silence doesn't,
                                                 it stays hung on the ceiling,
              
and back stage amongst the props there's a person
contemplating life,

                         a remnant of stardust,
exhaled throughout the yawns of the cosmos.