for abby :)

there is a
wild wind of connection in you-
always considering your devotion
to the promise of creation we made
when we saw our selves a part of it.
medicine woman, pound the earth and make it
your own. reach out to the height
of ecstatic volts we are the living form of.
to be a woman, surround the light
and comfort the path in stone. color the sky
as it lays down the night, knowing
this whole world waits for no one
so we drink it in to save for watering.
what we grow will sustain this one nation,
all of us under the god within,
our healing hands open against the earth
and you show me, grinning, to
face the approaching rhythm we feel-
made of only the divine thing:
the love for what's inside,
and the longing to make it real.

the soft skin

how can it be so much about your body
your body
your body
dark leaves against the window and
the way i feel. it doesn't seem to anybody
but me a question to be a full, full answer.
i'm battling the same thing we all do,
adolescence, this giving up game. i know.
it's learning to love the cat knocking
the phone off the bed as much as anything else
we picture you as something outside,
but you're not. i picture you outside the
window, smiling. why is smiling not considered
talking. i laid my bed on you,
didn't think i'd have to wait so long. i didn't
know how much time there was in the world,
or all the thoughts i'd have to think before i could get
inside again. but i've learned to value the leaves
we're not stars, we just shaved our legs today
none of us know anything about being others.
we've drawn the middle in this, created our
time. it will divide you, and you will not doubt it then.
you will not wonder, because
we are not possibly any different.
therefore assume the same, inside instinct we just
follow our feeling, our fucking universal
contact. the fingers
your body
the soft skin
that is it.

caterpillar

tell me to come here, we share
the size of this. i'm noisy, you sound so
used to, charging a battery i know nothing of.

i may be subject to only my own -
my recession, my wardrobe, my dynamic.
my attempts at empathy- there is no mean
to that end. but i feel like i am a legend, a joke
that makes everyone seem to be a part
of something by knowing.

laughter matters at every level but only
when it measures what we know
about our selves. otherwise

i may not need to know you.
the caterpillar is exhausted, but that's not
a part of the story. and i do know the value
of this chapter: the changes i don't choose
to make, the real life foreshadowing itself

i wonder if i could even remember it all, every part
while obviously we are traveling time. the only thing
there is is a beginning and an end,
but those are the parts i know i won't remember. and this
is the best part. look, the part i remember
is always the best part

ass of her

i'm gooey, i'm forever twenty one,
calling to place a request from the pay phone.
back up the light booth with Just the right fit for
stalling. i walk in, high fiveless, to see
one of her sitting. she looks me feet first into
the room and says one thing,
which remains the traveling amen of what
i'm solving. sunburns, nights alone or aloud now,
with dinner exchanges and our charming truth or dare.
she wears the questions too, her lips the ass of her asking.
salute, smile with brows tight.
"what are you doing?"