Watching The Bachelor w/ Gertrude Stein
DARK HAIRED DEW.
Look straight ahead, a yacht yachting. All of amenities.
Blue water is blue different from blue woman in blue-on-blue bikini. And blue?
Different than. Exactly who I want to love.
Exactly who I want. What.
I can only say everything.
LILY LIPPED LOVELY.
In the car museum, I opened myself up. A hood, a horse. My belly growled like a bear.
A sacrifice is when I toast above toast points with behind us a sea that does not see. The mystery is beneath the cushions, authorized.
What one might take to the grocery to buy foods that are coded and which must be scanned.
My belongings in trash bags and leather.
If what made today was yesterday then stubborns bloom gratitude.
FULL BODY SCAN.
And the ROSE which means yes which means yes, though which often also no, and you, racecar driver, wine maker, pharmaceutical rep, which will save me the woman petal by petal which with your pillow lips will which way them into crystals and toothpicks which leads to veils of boredom.
The terrycloth and feathers and eyelashes and bowling balls.
This smallness so small as a two week-ago soft-boiled egg.
Full well I know that she is there. Much as she will she can be there. This rose risen. At last. Glass ass shattered and shone. And yes my yesness yessed and yessed.
Or of this. Or of other season. Of next season.
CHRIS, I AM READY.
Fantasizing about Brad Pitt w/ Gertrude Stein
A VESSEL, THAT IS A TUSK.
A kind in road, and in falling down a Missouri highway, and is sky of a mouth, of a minivan in a Walmart parking lot, of snow, of open door.
There is a man in the chair which is not a chair but is a chair in the shape of a chair in the shape of a third chair.
OH BRAD, YOUR HAIR.
What is the use of this thimble of rain, the name of Jane, of stitch and the ditch, of THIS THS THIS this THISNESS and also of that, little ole that.
The black privacy window, the stained glass window, the window into a window, the widow of a window, the wind, the whittled stick, the sticky wilted openness of the flowers on the sill.
THE VASE.
What scruff may I wound myself on, what ribbon to tie around what finger, what sorrow to feed to what swine in which field.
If the pussy cat is hairless, then how does the hair of the hairless pussy cat get stroked at midnight. ONLY THE CLOCK.
THE ANIMALS.
Of which is one and three causes namely the stethoscope but also the guitar.
Though the cherry of the cherry blossom is not the same cherry as your lip or as the rib that broke inside the cavity or the stoplight of only one in a small town yet was more often green as the leaf in the tree in which the uncherried cherry blossomed.
AND YOUR EYES!
A bedroom eye is better than a ballroom eye is better than a boardroom eye but perhaps equivalent to barroom where Miller Lite slides to open palm.
But even sober, how sobering, and somber, but sober, but type a for one, but sober, yes, so sober with bitters and soda, but not bitter, just sober.
THEN A CAMEL.
To smoke, under smoke sky, to cup a hand, a hand that smells like the horse it fed that fed it while it was feeding the fededness, the shake of the things, the fading, the fade.
BUT BRAD, I AM MARRIED.
And also, no snow.
