Indeed extreme, maybe, maidens in macrame, restaurant talk depressants, in vitro embalming, bozos on benzos get on my last nerve. That's what separates the men from the men, she said. I tint my windows on the inside--see me not seeing you?
If the only path floods, let's say, or the farthest drive at the oldest cemetery is impassable, can you still take me there? Ahead, rows of pansies in purple velvet and midnight blue are all I can remember. Those and the pines stretching ten year old arms after sleep without dreams. Sound as Sandman.
I see you in his feet now.
Tuesday bruised Wednesday and Thursday took off. Who is there to blame? Between refrains we hit refresh--nothing is missing but everything is gone. Unwinding. What about the cast iron pan. I burned the eggs again: cholesterolism, catholicism, absenteeism, criticism: if they knew would they tell.
Coat the bananas with chocolate and nuts, save shredded carrots for the hamster.
In white sandals, matching cuffed shorts with embroidered flowers, she scans the playground, every inch open--braids wound in hope--eyes blink: Saturday. I see so much yellow. Nothing hurts here.
Remind me what he said just before the sky broke.
I speak listen.
I fly walk.
I move still.
But you already knew.
--from Monkey Joes, GA.