Never suggest to a womanThatShe is not her own personShe cannot live without youShe needs your warmth andGuidance.She will smileAnd laugh, teeth shiningCanines pointed andWickedly sharp.She will blink, slowlyHer long mascara filled lashes willRip into your psycheShe reassures you:Don't worry honey, I'm not goingAnywhere.Drink up.

This is a poem from a wonderful woman. I don’t know her, but she paints these massive gorgeous canvases with her words, to the point where I don’t ever want to stop reading.

Absorb this.

jaywalking the moon

“poetry–” i say
with a heavy exclamation mark
“has no value in itself”,

& poets?

just think of the statues in the parks,
ivy winding ’round copper rusted cheeks,
rapt eyes twisted skyward, frill-sleeved,
quill in meditative folded,

manicured & languid hands,
i prefer my poets dirty, dangling
with disordered clothes on helicopter skids,
rubbing outcast’s shoulders &

ask the lady at the supermarket check out
“what ya thinking about poetry?”,

she looks at me while pulling
butter, milk, a whole grain bread
over the scanner, bags under her eyes,
“you’re paying with your card?”

“it doesn’t feed me”

& in the car, i shovel words (dang, they’re
everyWhere– ) on the backseat, overSized,
reduNDant, underPaid&lightWeight, puFFed
panting in the driver seat, &

blurred, between frozen fish,
cashew nuts and fennel tea, see Burns,
rOLling raPtured eyes and somewhere
in the spinning is…

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