Sexy Spring Poem (drunk edition) 4/23

This spring
the daylight has become a series of chasers.
Hot laughter bubbling up
through the fizz of sunshine.
I am refreshed.
Repeatedly refreshed.

As my skin gathers up its bright red hangover
the sun is drowning like a grapefruit
& the vodka is coming,
certain as the moon
the robust bottles,
they are coming.

The wine will turn your skin-based sunshine
into freckles & brown flaking skin.
Tonight our sheets will be a blizzard of skin
that springtime is shuffling off.

Burns cook off in the night,
like the lilac vodka you soaked out french toast in.
The calendar is widening her eyes.
The horizon has got infinity on its breath.
We duck that florid purpling afterglow
& begin fucking in the blossomed yawn of a cherry tree.

I find you in desperate need of muddling.
You cracked so beautifully
when I poured my intoxicated body over you.

Fremont (4/19)

Pink child-sized fingerprints of spring
stick petulant to the small red speed of the Mazda Miata.
The rain will ambush you,
even if you hide your convertible beneath the trees.

Freewriting in the Sculpture Park

After turning on the bluetooth
I bend down my neck,
and push the letters like pedals beneath my fingers.

In high afternoon
the sunlight is too violent on the water.
Can't look at it all directly
I need wide-framed sunglasses & sideways glances
I need a toothpick to carve the last of winter from between my wisdom teeth.

I stopped to think a thought
& got lost in the fabric of a swaying dress.

Spring

This spring I am looking to get a sunburn on my neck, have pollen gather in my mouth; I'm looking to grow a flower in my throat. I want steam to rise when I tear my helemt off. Happily, I am becoming more and more comfortable with the damp residue of hillclimbing. I've been selecting layers for sweating in and having youngish, impratical thoughts about casual sex. the kind you have in 7th grade, the ones that made you giggle with shock & lonely embarassment. This spring I am looking forward to the dull ache of pushing my spokes past too many miles. I am ready to soak in the tub for reasons other than warmth. I am ready for my worries to lift away like fat bumble bees. This spring I am looking forawrd to engaging in pains quite delightful.

Neighborhoods.

With fingers peeling and a cool breeze winding up my skirt
I scuttle around the unexplored nieghbohoods of Seattle,
pump my pedals in the shadow of I-90
before she skips across the water.
The sun is brash like summer.
I can just about feel the possibility of burn on my skin,
--impossible in so young a spring.
A gust pushes me back
I push the pedals harder
and celebrate my grim I told you so.

The gaps between my sleeves and gloves are still too much to handle
I never trust the weather in Seattle,
it is too safe a topic of conversation.

To keep from chattering nervously
and to keep my mouth warm
I hum, sing, scat a little bicycle song,
still
I am shivering and sweating
like the way your body does while fucking.

Cold and hot take up residnece in seperate territories of my body
there are some neighborhood where the temperatures mesh
and those are the nicest for living in

After I arrive
I look up all the neighborhoods
and let my fingers draw my routes upon them.

Patience & Rhythmic Salt

I am waiting for the bricks to pull me in,
for the bass to ultimately shake the fantasies into action;
call forth an alternate universe:

An ocean of jitters
endlessly coming & going--
Making frothy footholds at the moon's expense.
Our minds have got jellyfish & driftwood for teeth;
Our poem coming up loose with mouthfuls of sand,
The thoughts crust over & dry out
like leftover starfish.

She drinks like a fish
who has a liver for every broken heartbeat.
Fish bones beguile the teeth
& finger the roof of your mouth like an insect

& I am waiting for the embrace of the jellyfish;
for the year of the sand-dollar
-a time when this series of crashes might buy you back.

I am waiting for the tide to wash up
empty of fish heads & needle bones,
Waiting for the salt to heal
for the jellyfish to untie their stings
(&move forward in the tempo of the lungs)

I am waiting for the moment I can reach up
and pry open tha short yawn of sunshine,
plant my hook in the yellow mouth of sky,
and drag her by the teeth into spring.