Flood every grocery sack with opened up noodle boxes.
Ask the butcher for fresh chinook salmon.
Bother the pharmasists for a secret remedy until he sighs and gives in.
Give the lady yourcalifornia sunshine drivers license when she yawns and
Has to make sure you can buy a bottle.  ( I imangined what happened after we danced.)
She moved my pulse like safeways selectice bold brazillian roast.
I believe her secret recipies for pickled seduction.
Every first isle Leaves  me happily underneath the celings act three popcorn
Until I beg her to hold like fresh melting george forman grilled cheese (what I was looking for a long time from now)
The iron clad grill Whisperes"you have found her missing grocery list".  Why has her bias condemmed possibilies canned tuna fish in oil.  Theres nothing to see insider her locks of eggplant stems.   i can find a alternative way to cash my sacronized invisible receit stamped with red words raincbeck.  I couldnt afford you impulse items.

My friends a pizza cowboy
My uncles a interpreter
For the grainery
My cousin lives inside
Dry mouths
and my mother
Makes fake smiles
my other cousin
sticks his pruned up
Hands in rivers of unwanted
pasta
My father makes sure
Boats do not go gently
Against the stolen tides.
I think of the underdogs
Whenever were all together
We sit on the same green couches
Durring the holidays.
The same ones that tell us
No matter what happens
Were going to be ok.  We sink
And recline in the coushins
And forget about
Nine to five for a few honest hours.  
While we drink and eat and lauph
Underneath the same old popcorn celings.
The same living room
Where every thing happening now
never went unoticed because
Ireland found England after
The bombs after the soccer game
Where she said (after the game)
"I want nothing to do with that *******"
Are you sure about that grandma.
Better stay away from uncle george (the keeper)
He wants you to meet his friend (the forward)
Who played for the Blackburn rovers.

Something in the way, she Still-lifes.
Like the me and er in g rain in wood panel churches
The pattern of **** all on off ice celings
Like layers of mast I cated gum lining busstation stalls.
Something in the way, she steals life.

There’s Something in the way she moves through.
Like birds hunting, the living immobile seed
The creaking of limbs… when there is barely a breeze
Like dragonfly wings, stop. Motion. Flap. while perched on me
There’s Some/Thing in the way she choose grooves.

There is Some - Thing in the way she rings.
As Larks whistle the will of the Sun
Like church bells hail ing to the heat-hens
Or the si rens of emergency fading into the night
There is something in the way. She pings.

And just when I
Thought the room
Was empty,
They stripped the
Floorboards and
Celings
Until the lone
Light bulb
Swung naked
From rafters
And I truly had
Nothing left.