Who else will write you love songs

or paint your naked body

with an opened mouth?

Well, if you know who,  I suppose

my life of water is meaningless

but if you haven’t got anyone else

why not let me petrify you, my dear redwood

I imagine your penis in my mouth

Your body rolled into mine

Your hands warm and gentle

on my neck

Pull and cling. Swish and kiss

Imagine it.  That is what I do

Here lies the body of a well-loved

human -under this pile of stones

a power decayed

Even though, in his generation

his people loved and praised him

now he is a sonnet; a sealed container of dust

We stand, his future, new generations

sprouted from the past and remember his

name and the territory of  his revolution

but none of us can smell his morning breath

or feel the warmth of his penis in their mouth

Here is some advice.

Finger what you love

This day is all you have

Lose for it.

Waste your life for it.

This is bad advice. Don’t follow it.

It will get you into trouble.

It will make your heart fall out.

You’ll lose any respect

you’ve gained.

It is easy for me to drag this

to you -I’ve never gained respect

and my heart, long ago dried out

Jerky?

I went to lake superior

and put my hot body

in the cold water

I went body surfing and jumped off a cliff

I floated on my back for an hour

I hiked along her, clumsy with aching

muscles and sat in the shade of her forest

I watched the sunset with a fire whistling

and had a few bottles and fell asleep

to the crash and fear of her waves

The problem is I couldn’t stay

Five days later and

I had to leave for my life chances

to stay optimistic and excessive

It’s a long good bye and even after

days of being back in the city

I’m dazed out and prone to smiling in sadness

Henry and I are going to die

we are not going to be making

you dinner forever

we won’t be pouring your wine

for eternity

so now, while we are here

please share your cigars

and play that song

-the one that makes Henry

cry and me horny

(he is easier to seduce after a good weepin’ and smoke)

my sister is lesbian

she licks another woman’s

breasts

they hold and cuddle on

my couch after dinner

they are uncomfortable

coming out with their

relationship

my sister’s love

says, you’re the only we can kiss in front of

I don’t know what to say

a tear cracks my cheek

and burns the flesh off

I know what it is like to

shout your love out

or hold a hand and tell

your mother this is the one

this is the one I want to make with

here is the only place they can

be natural.  in my closet they

can bang and  sass and touch

and I don’t stop them

when my sister starts to

explain herself I shout,

get real.

do what you want

when you want

fuck the world

fuck the couple

on the greeting cards

and books and calendars

the her and him

movies made for prime time

in the irrational embraces

fuck the boxes and neat shelves

the filing cabinets and manicured lawns

I don’t know if my words get deep enough

to beat the fear or the rationing of how

she found love.

I don’t understand

I don’t know what love is

to others or how they go about finding

it.

or sharing or holding it in

I see two beautiful women

I watch my sister’s love

wash the dishes while my sister

drys and puts away

I watch my sister’s love pour her

a glass of wine with a big smile

and hand it to her with a sparkle in her eye

and see my sister kiss her

and tousle her hair

I don’t understand it at all

maybe it’s a passing experiment

or a new rush or

the real deal

my sister speaks in riddles

as the wine begins to inhibit her

poise

her back bends a little forward

and her worries begin to be spread

on the table with the deck of cards and two

empty bottles

I push out all the uncertainty and confusion

I push it out.  I forget that the world

is fighting out place and roles and freedom

I ignore the pants and belt I wear, the blazer

and the scarf, and long tangled hair down my

back, free and out of control.  the flips, the bra that

lifts my breast,

that in another place or time would leave me

hanging from a tree or stoned to Hades

or cast out of town or home

as dirty or cheap or the devil or against nature

I forget it and enjoy life, the blood and bone, muscle

and cartilage

the nervous system

the sight, the smell, the taste

This is it. This is what I want you to believe in

sister -There is nothing wrong with you

Well meaning humans

friends and family members

tell me to write a novel

something I can get paid for

They ask if I write

if I write at all

if I do, why don’t I show it

to them

they say with ups at the ends of the words

I mumble about the poem

about the line

about when I sit down and write

a poem  I do what

I can and hope

their war will be lost

on my ability to write a

decent poem

Of course I have a lot of

horse shit that I don’t

finger until it becomes apart

of my identity but the

process of writing a poem

I’ve put everything in

I’ve excepted

that I will never get drinks or licks

in exchange for my poems

But if I don’t write these bloody

stumps, if I don’t fuck on the mother

tongue and smear her ideologies

in my gruesome fantasies

her neat and organized world

may beat out the orgasmic

and thirsty

I don’t want to alarm you but

I can only hear potato chips

crunching.   May have two

dollars and nine cents?

Please?

I’m losing my ability to focus

just listening to you eat

Some people are good at cutting

off –shifting goals and melodies

for the best outcome

On the phone you said good bye

and hung up.  I held onto the phone

a couple seconds, listening to the dial tone