Arched

in my underwear i write poetry

two headed poetry

with ten spigots and swift ankles with wings

whisking me outside, and i have bare feet

hippity bounce don't prick the soles

i walk with green tipped tinges

i am filling branches with pies of sentences

and filing my nails with memories

i am eating a green apple on the floor naked

i am crying into words as my mouth remembers

through my hippie journal with ideas

of emerson and indians

and dipping in water on alive nights

and cowering in water on nights that never end

and pressing my lips to the showers belly button

i breathe

i am full of love

i was full of love

i cut pear slices of it

and fed tired ankles, and limber stringy arms

stretched against the sky upward as a sillhouette

now im arched over in the light glistening night

to write these silly things that will not be understood because

i put tule between words

is it insanity? do you think so?

well you know i laugh

just hold me

like a bowl

like how the clouds hold the moon

holding the rooftops of this town

holding me and mine and my memories:

in my veins

there is a spritish imp chirping these ideas

she singy sing sinzzzgs such

beauuuuuutiful songs

with bare shoulders

her swift collarbone

her neck

her backbone is a plumb

trickling down onto the chair of straw

where i sit in my underwear

and write poems