night is a calm wisdom that winds down circular
spinning gently as a floating flower with the year’s end
the road is a lapis knife splitting air between the trees
so,
do I want it ruby rhinestone gems
glinting in thick whipped mash-potato life-line splat
or heavy-cut dripping open orange oil tang meat
we are content or we are going to be
I write in a red chair
under a brown paper penciled chart of the 2009 lunar phases, a love letter
next to two years of charted menstration, red dots on 2008 and 2009 lunar phases, printed by Snake and Snake
beside a polaroid of three naked apple trees in Portland, their fruit on the ground
under a window looking out on cold tree skeletons
on top of blonde wood floors
dog is on the bed a wild mess of fluff sighing and sneezing and dream twitching paws
two cats sleeping in two moons, nose to tail, black and white piano keys and desert streches
on white flannel sheets with acorns and a brown quilt my stepfather made
I write on yellow tablets at work
shoving them into random drawers when the boss comes around
terrified I will forget them there at the end of the day
I write at red lights
scratching so frantically I can barely read it later
into a red moleskine
almost always forgetting the feeling and flow of the original moment
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