Drawing
So lately I’ve been drawing,
because writing is a slog, plowing
through peat, never drifting
no rainbow
just chemtrails
(only kidding)
I draw amphorae and
can’t draw unguents, but
I like the idea of all
those people, maybe recumbent
in the cella, inviting a
hyacinth rainbow, skirting
weedy yards of snag and
tribulation
I try to draw a fountain and
settle on a bizarre and
clunky bot.
Then
I draw palm trees, mine
maybe the palm that
tumbled dates for Inanna,
back in Sumer,
adjacent to a “caprid”
(that’s a goat) and
pubic triangle, per the text.
And no surprise, I draw
the psychic’s hut. In the window
a sign beads with bioluminescent
missive, says: card reader.
Did you know that even some
cockroaches can glow? They
appear as veiled beings
with laser eyes, like figures from
a story about waterless future
or whoever you talk to in the
cella, incorporeal,
just a shift in the air
Anthuriums and Dates
Anthuriums have just been watered
tiny floats for slow river
of electrolyte zephyr rain
Springtime is soft and pally
No more depth>delving cold
in the finger bones, no more
days swiftly detonated by sappers.
I lean into the long day its
lack of implication
tears for fears songs
roxy music silly stories
acrid acid florals
nucleus of a hot car
moments of jelly vulnerability
& hair dye that feels like tropical
pudding
wildly variable profusions of growth !
like a spray of ergot in the gold.
Blood work cuneiform coming back strange
found the salt shaker in the fridge
next to my cauldron of yogurt
and robust intentions
wellness is a gnosis. It’s all
greasy hard to grab it’s all
liquids unassailable
and as the heat descends,
every day is a date, chewy
heady lovely, literally sickening but
also a pleasure
to hold in my mouth.
Brenda
Brenda incandescent in her tube top
saying ‘hi, what’s your problem?’
she and her girlfriend are
in love, and also are
becoming tree
we could all know that
winnowing space-dust microbe
on the breeze!
Lean you back, recast you a
shelf of chaga, a touch
like agate distorting pleasantly
the paean of the gates of paradise
it’s azure, synthy, procreative
of a swooping thorax, and I
can almost follow the ‘s’ of the
cognate like a goaded snake
from warm place / to warm place
smearing unguents getting
lit emitting low smolder