My Porridge is a pleasant thing; it keeps me warm it feeds my Spring
but candied apples cannot bring my toes to the warm— the supplying
of finches to their dourest. fine. overwintered. dine-in— feathering
the thrush-like fickle phantom ring and the tickling of my undying. fling.
Have you ever, in the reading nook, been made aware of Captain Hook
Van Morrison is loud in the Volkswagen van.
The vehicle— burdened by years of hot sand—
is pleased to be with its brown-eyed family
on the old road out from the beach to the trees.
Marble Queen Pothos— her leaves pressed to the glass—
is one among many plants in the back.
Like Buckminster Fuller lived there full time
this spaceship of earth bears a biophilic design.
A traveling garden— pack up and unwind.
The bear on the mountain—in the morning— watching the ocean
nudge the coast with its long tongue.
I am worried about the Great Vowel Shift
and my own tongue has come undone
but the bear on the mountain
left such a big dent in the brown grass
and that is so beautiful to me.
The redwoods seem like they need to cross the street
dragging pavement across their big toes
Scaffold me into the homestead trees
Bring music from a hand-me-down banjo
Make scarves thicker than what you’ve planned for dinner
You’ll bring me more than wedding vows
Tell me about what the clouds can do
I’ll tell you how sweet they are on blue
Sally forth, sycophant, toward a raw and total meeting place!
Flatter me over crème brûlée
but I cannot take you down today
to the dumb and dirty palisade.
Bring chickpeas, some sad fish cake,
the glossy edge of your wine taste,
lick my trapezius before I postulate.
My vowels are drunk on your parade.
Kiss your lapel. Then, the stapedius.
Lick your long fibers. Dig
delicate roots through the fascia.
Your depths are mud
on my trowel. My fingers pull down
bad vibrations. No bad yoga, though tired
mystic entanglement. Nonsense
to meet the wideness of the pose.
Fancy Far Fetched Morel Moons and Vines to Regret Vinaigrette
I like your dense graph but the esoteric
matter might make some brains bleed.
Some backward data science
with circles that collide and conflate your half-truths
make a Rubicon connected by large jagged grooves.
Birds and bees are glad things but nothing nature makes
will fill the bosom of the bullet point you lay
flat with palms unsheathed.
Link in Bio-LinkedIn prior to this
Come fishnet and hairpins
Come sit in the din
On rubber skin
Eat sugar crust or water-thin
crackers snapped beneath the big
It is SO large.