My old cat
Randy
remembers me
he used to be fifty
and now he's sixty five
and he's lost a lot of weight
i hope he doesn't die
and he loves me still
and likes when i pet him
and sticks his butt at me
with his tail up
and buries his head
and places one back paw
perfectly in front of the other back paw

god
if only dolphins were like lions or cheetahs or tigers
wet and pursuasive
not that dolphins aren't pretty or warm but what if they were
actually pretty and warm and furry and had
those huge eyes
and those huge paws
and if dolphins not only did sonar but read souls like a big cat does
and not only were sexual but looked sexual too
then they would do flips like they do, but also pounce and kill
by ripping necks out
then they'd be like humans are

god
if only gorillas were like bears
you know if bears were smart as gorillas
but gorillas were as cute as bears?
then they'd be like humans

god
if only flamingos were like pelicans too
all pink how they are with skinny legs but plus
having a big flapping gigantic beak that they could just
stuff
like a turkey gets stuffed
and flap around in the wind
bobbing their head up and down with their tiny
chopstick toothpick knees to get
their catch down their throats
but they were pink too
then they'd be like humans

god like i am the opposite of a fish
a big transparent fat whiteclearfleshed fish
that is orange
i am also not furry
i'm a person
but different


when you're blown open like i am now
not like a fish
at all
not at one with the water or the flood or the dam
not like a pelican that eats the fish
first holding it in its mouth
not like a flower
because flowers arent full and warm like i am
not like a bird
although i can't feel my bones either
when you're blown open like i am now
other people know
and tell
and they stay away from blow
they know that they can't say anything to you

when you say things and other people say things
and when you're with people and other people are with people
it is just hooting and hollering like a pack of animals.
just rituals and patterns
speech is patterns
people are made of dna
which is patterns
and we hoot and holler
and i know im a person
but i'm doing what i'm supposed to do
when you're blown.

i don't know why i ate myself so full
of the sandwich that was made especially for me
or why i don't need to eat it all of that i made for myself
i like to spit out food
you know this about me.
when the pizza was made especially for me i ate two pieces
in little chunks and with my hands pulling off little chunks and chewing them.
i like to rub my hands in honey
and then the dirt
i like to put my feet in the river
and then complain and wince
but then again
when nobody expects me to
i'll get in the cold water
with all my clothes on
and stare like a dead fish
at you
and be indignantly complete
but not so fresh of soul

i understand better now
the urge that monks have
to comb sand
to make sand stand in ridges
that make sense
and how wolves and dogs howl alone
at the moon and at the sky

i dont understand as much why the urge is
to be under the milky way
why i need the stars
and also why i need to be outside in the wild
but that's there
and that's that

i wrote a bunch of postcards
and i didn't even think of sending you one
i guess that means that I can do what i'm told
and that the heart is organic after all
not metallic
or mineral
I guess that means that the grass on the other side
and on this side
can regrow
there are all different types of grass
in all different types of yards
all around the world
but when you look at the earth
from space
the grass is green
and the oceans are blue
and i'm still mostly blue
just like the earth

so many green lights
just telling me good!

@

touching the chocolate
will not make me rash
will not make me complete.
I touch it with my hands
and with my nails
but i will not touch it with my mouth
which is red,
or my grey skin
and what is presumably my
grey innards
never.

i ate a candy at the bar last night
a candy from an old lady box
like my grandmas and everybody's grandma has
which percents

i'm not even tempted by many layers of cake
with cremes
i'm not even tempted by the holy
lord god raspberry

i'm not tempted to smell the fresh mint
or the warm wind blowing tree's flowers
i'm not interested
in anything but nostalgia

and everything i taste is sharp

the politic loud
that makes me shake
with caffiene

I'm not going to live in a caesura ,
someday it doesn't look like,
in the globe of crystal -
like i'm ever going to have a lover

who makes me fruit salad
with seeds of melon still in it
and caviar
and cream
in a tin

All the knobs were red
Age, texas, chaff
playing with chickens
playing chicken with
too many people
and
I don't like
in the end
laying very still
watching some
darth
hear him thrash
and scream sex
in some undone garment

Recovery Act:

eating polenta
in the wind
under the sky

alone.

and remembering
how much old lovers
miss me

and if we were all wearing green velvet suits
while we fought our own selves
by fucking each other
it would have been
Art.
A Great Art Object.
but no,
it was something else.