last day of may the reverb

America. was the last day of may and all of the dead end streets look like never ending roads, and all the dead end relationships are enthusiastic pressing another go around with hopes one lucky night of what we once had may carry a small sound around and turn the johnny rotten back to first date territory with long lashes and laughter, and heal the deep gashes like reverb sweetening the deal, to hold a song’s triumphant note deep into the memory of the night, a stripped mall’s dollar store turned boutique, a dead end presidency turned back to camelot and kennedy days, a mid-preaching pause full of meaning, careless words begin to care, a rebellion to the cause of suffer leaning… it was the last day of may and we have a chance to be deep again, full again, and resonant

soft padded manipulation in a bold italicized continuum

May 25

The daily life enhancement initiative was set into motion and sprung forward like a tiger, claws retracted for non-violent approach and soft padded manipulation of the microcosm, as opposed to the previous quarter century of claws out technique for random slashing of enemy throats. Said outdated technique had really done a number on the psychosocial sphere, as folks don’t like to make friends with sharp claws and cannot see the kind eyes behind them looking softer and aiming to collaborate in a bold italicized continuum.

this moon is not pink and they-them-theirs never will be

Though you call them the ‘pink moon’ and dress them in floral prints of the season, the full moon tonight will show their true color to you tonight and let you be let down (or up), and they will light your faces up so they can see how happy or sad you are to see them so. And they will shine upon the phlox they were misnamed after, whose flamed flowers will rise in unison to the top of their stems to peer upon them, and feel their power of persuasion, and the feeling will feel full and beneficial and the phlox flower water will become bubbly and pour pink champagne into the trumpet of the lily. All will at very least acknowledge the full and vibrant moon for their mighty refusal to be classified, categorized, denigrated, or diagnosed. Darwin may well be confused, yet his curiosity a contagion the whole world could catch. The moon was a kind moon, a gentle moon, a moon of many colors, and kept their feelings somewhat to themselves, so not to disturb the galaxy.

little children made a song they like to sing
every april comes around…

then one day 
the pink moon got away
turned blue 
for me and for you
happily and for 


unite like a night train unites with the night

september and we were super together and you were natural like a farmer to me you were a farmer and i coulda been a farmer’s wife with a farmer’s tan and your name written in raspberry juice up and down the curves of my chest and we would not be smiling all the time dripping with honeymoon anymore, for seconds maybe yes, but mostly working and class and working our ass off and classes with glasses cause i don’t see as good anymore gettin older, i guess and history looks a little different behind us if we were to look back upon the vistas without falling into it. i would rather fall into you and what you are doing, the hours behind a wheel of a truck, the 12 hour days or doubles, and yes i am single still, are you? if i pull with my arm will you blast your horns? shine your light this way, my love, we could unite like a night train unites with the night but the day will come when we see things for how they really are and would you want me then would i want you? i love you now and you care about me and that is a tasty concoction with shaved ice hoping not to get crushed at the foot of a celery stalk, melting the summer suns into autumn.

navel label trés

navel (orange) label #3

There are so many ways we came to greet one another, I knew the love was alive by this alone (no stale greetings, no hallmark cards). You came with flowers, I would surprise you from behind the door and rush into your arms… you might call down from an open window, warmly gazing at me on your elbows… I might do my eyeliner up in a signature Amy Winehouse kinda way with a twist… we might pretend like we were strangers, you would act like you were delivering a pizza — Is so and so home? I have an order for a Miss Mills… you would often be wearing my clothes.

russian river by Katya

Your arrival into my life had been so unexpected. I must have done something special to get you for a gift. I was alone and even lonely before I met you, I wonder now, did that have something to do with it? I would bring you pastries and coffee, your favorite kind. You brought me a paper once you took from the neighbor’s driveway. So what? you said, You can tell they don’t read them, there’s a half dozen on the lawn! (Yes, well, maybe they’re on vacation).

sky by K

We like it here in our little earthen corner of the wind sky water joint. Don’t we get along swell? I study you within the four walls, floor and ceiling. But never confined, no, always free you are to float toward or away from me and us and this condition cannot condition the unconditionable — that is you. You drive me crazy, whatever whomever however you are.

navel label dos

navel (gone larger) label #2

A great compression hits the air and electricity unloads upon the city and picks up pavement like legs over jumpropes. Spent out on long nights and hazy days between command central (some adulator’s basement or agitator’s sister’s garage) and the Civic Center. Planned protests (amidst unplanned parenthood). Your body and your mind are notched for shorter play, but the spirit moves the joystick. The sound of it makes most young activists want to switch to substitute teaching.

And many probably do
But not you know who

Others join the green party ranks
Or the army, marching behind tanks

I would  move (with you) to Amsterdam or Vancouver
where we could talk on talk radio with the world about
anything but that

what’s behind the label
across the sheltering orange rind
of the navel

To be chicken-wired into a city 4 block radius
by choice. Fast food ideology. To give away your voice
by choice  — Berlin, circa 1942

Caution. it might hurt
Planned parenthood (amidst pop-up protests), hazy days and spent nights for dizzy girls spun dry from wet, will never be women to boys will never be men, lucky if a fifth make it to the clinic where everyone’s betting against them, only a tenth make it out half-alive. Fast food ideology.  — Chicago, 2016

There, there…
All washes away, tears and problems and headaches and trash
Flags come out on Patriots Day and how dare you? I love
(my country) too

There, there…
The pulp is safe and juicy inside
full of nutrients (and whatever’s in the water)

A great decompression hits the air and electricity unloads and picks up pavement like legs over jumpropes. Feelings around the block so diverse and tangential, burning like coals in the eyes and faces of those who live deep in the heart of the American city. Every AMERICAN city unified, from Quebec to Tijuana, Houston to Montreal, Toronto to Rio de Janeiro. Feelings catch on and so alive!

We will need no lighter fluid. You and I
The solar flares (sent by sun) have arrived


My skin so thin and traveling has been hard to endure no matter how local it could be the neighbor and dare i dial your number and be confronted by you and me.

My mind unreal looks for finality in rituals which have no end. Shopping the last pear half or double dozen of egg. Wishing i may never bleach the bathroom again.

All work to go away with every single necessary interaction. The ceasing of small pleasures even, only to take more sleep.

Only to dream nightmares more real than conscious reverie and only to wanna end to those, too, and only to wake to more dishes and emotions to contend…

and the very great pressure of you waiting for me to prove myself real.