Joyride (2)

Here's yr hysterical spring. Our rutting season with all the LaLaLa yr so funny. So wild.

The kumquats so small each node is a blotch of silver paint. We are road hungry for sleep.

Sleep like bees after smoke. And yr rubbing my ears, bringing me back from dinner with April’s

dead. Breakfast in bed and the HaHaHa of the hairdryer tourniquet blowing white noise

like sea spray. We pass out with our hair wet, yr lips blue. Like marble satyrs in the tub.

Royal in the sun. Wicked in the shade. Spilt wine ensnaring you with rosehip and tendril.

Does a good little ram clear the thorns and the blackberry?

In the dream, orchids the size of horses climb out of the swimming pool tossing back their

fleshy heads. Gravity is bygone. My mother drags a mosaic end table, we painted as children, behind

her bad leg. You can see where water damage has whipped the grout into soft peaks.

At the grill, my brother saws off the head of my first catfish with a bread-knife.

On guitar, I am playing the same song for attention ... It's only a quarter to three / Reflecting off the L.C.D.

Yr looking at a picture of me

Yr staring at a picture of me ...