Root cellar girl
tucked in there among
the glangsnide carrots
bins of yams and
winter squash.

Unconcerned about clean body
unconcerned about health
unconcerned about movement.

Very very still
cultivating allsomely
the snorval fear dissipates
sapent sworls and commiserates.

Pigtails, childish hips
enwrapped in tantrums
of a crocheted afghan
mesmerized by all the Aquarian
techniques that mitigate disaster
those dug-up dahlias of desire.

How are you?
Don’t say anything. Wave the arms
say Huh and Ram as loud as you can
verbalize without the crack and skull.

Do not like the grammatical imperative.
Do not like the wanderment.


fly away
fl'away
fl'aw'

failure
f'lure
f''ur'


morning eyes open
see clouds in layers
gray bluegray graygold
and sky white with morning
greet fungus angel
on the opposite roof
and notice more murk
arise in my mood

raise swampy legs
one after another
flog down the stairs
step by step to the
kitchen where fog-eyed
I deal with
last night’s dirty dishes
and compost to empty

how am I going to get out of this poem?

scan fridge for containers
grown older than summer
yogurt, salsa, tahina
with blue pearls of mold
chop apples with bad spots
cook slightly to soften
four high-yolked eggs
cracked into a bowl

wondering if I’m going to get out of this poem

dogs wait to be walked
eggy plates to distract them
“Get your leash! Get your leash!”
a frenzy of barking
out then we go
large handful of dog turd
dropped from grocery plastic
flushed down the toilet

possible to get out of this poem

alimentary, my dear
exit strategy – squat

After you visit City Lights
Pocket Poets Series
“Lunch Poems” by Frank O’Hara
in Border’s Book Store
so often
that your fingeroil DNA
completely coats both covers
and your eyestains invisibly
darken every page
and it costs less than $10
anyway
they should
give it to you

ancient September*
soon break your blue sky bowl and
spill fog memories

*phrase from Frank O’Hara’s “Naphtha”