On the other side of the tree,
she whispered simple wants:
to be inside his skin,
to linger on a summer morning,
and for sun to wash them away.

He put on his tie
and showed her a home-glow
at the end of a yellowy path-
how could she have missed it,
some wondered

but there were reasons
regarding Fiji mermaids
and flim-flammery,
the likes of which hadn’t been seen
since the gold still held sway

over a cold summer day
that broke after the big storm
like the best spun sugar
in a child’s greedy hands,
sticky and licked clean.

Heartburn because it’s Thursday
and I rationalize making cookies
to help mask whatever is happening
with my skin as I prepare to be social

A tiered jewelry box
filled with scratched pearls
and dinged diamonds
is no match
for raw dough on the tongue-
it helps my hips to settle,
distracting me from Warhol’s vampire battler
fucking me against the wall
(to save my life of course)

That may have been a memory
or a fantasy,
no matter

I missed my Wednesday ramble
but no one else did,
reminding me we’re all fallalery
(shining at least some of the time)

There are no endings – nothing lasts;
it’s a delicate balance
I walk, like a jester
(or a boy I knew in college)
with too many heavy balls to carry…
laughing through awkward pauses.
Do I really make any difference
in a single day? Of course not.
I’m the mistress of Harvey the rabbit,
a virtual pet,
a mother of teenagers,
between gigs and looking…
but there is no harbor,
just a boat in dry dock
and it’ll be awhile until it rains.