i can chant my own name for hours
i chant my name over and over
i chant it on the internet
also on my phone
i chant it around fires
but only when i'm by fires
i'm a very modern girl

i own chickens now
they live in my back yard


i have a cage in my room
with singing birds
that are blue

my chickens are black

i also have an entire
herd of guinea hens
that think i'm their mom
and follow me everywhere

i only wear leather
i eat mostly radishes
i can climb waterfalls
i can see the stars in daytime

i can do whatever i want
it is really cool
there are roses here too

if i was a little mushroom
i would be red with white dots.
you could eat me and die.
there would be people who
loved me
and whole civilizations
that used me

if i was a little mushroom
i would be under a big tree
and i would eat poop.

if i was a little mushroom
i would be black underneath
and i would digest rotten things

if i was a little
cat owned by bob dylan
i would be in a different life.

exactly what i want now
exactly for me
four heads of broccoli
and they can be cooked
anywhichway

yes yes
i spend all my days
walking down
the very streets
that bob dylan walked
merely 40-0 years in the past now

it is just important that
we all get our leafy greens
and our connection to music
in a tough day and age like this

not

attention to me


five seats around
a round table

five cups




my night
my cake too.

i'm not quite sure just what i've lost
it's a whole nother forest, i know
the woods i'm in now, though
i'm sure that there's roses here too

fiorucci
forinaria
forever
for ton

liquid energy!?
hot milk and water
to drink.

somebuggy will tell me
what to do
somebuggy will give me a
little break!
a little crunchy break!

five o clock coffee
sweet stretches
shotput eyes
out breath

i'm enrolling you with my face and neck filled with flowers.

Me?
my kitten?
long black eyes
scabby lashes
scrappy face
black red circles
really veal
un

rubber loon
sweet lake with sweet birds on it
sweet stars in the sky
sugar stars
dessert.
sweet air
sweet wind
sweet children
pure sugar picnic table
sweet puddle
sweet golden pinecone
sugar globe
ice sugar dinner
love of nature

what kind of ghost is this?
irish?
a fresh green ghost?

what kind of mexican ghost is this?

a bloody dog

i'm a little teacup
thristy
thirsty for brown water
i'm a little teacup
pour water on my dry plant
and then give me the water
and then put it in me and
then i'm full
and then i'm thirsty again
im a little teacup
sometimes im dirty
sometimes im clean
sometimes i stand on my big hole
sometimes i stand on my flat
i am so useful in this world
i'm so thirsty when im empty
pouring

spring is s-rung
pring!
wood planks hold dark wet spring together
wood sticks hold white spring up in the air
wood is wet and smells springy
wood is green in spring
wood cups gold green thats new
wood holds

a little home on the prarie
in a tree.
with a carrot garden in
the cabbage patch
a little rain falling down on the ground
a little play shown
with red cloth
a little gunny sack
little sack of bugs that
i carry and sing about
i will sing you a whole song
all about a bag of bugs
from my sweet home that
you stand outside of
a sweet home in a hole
in a tree
to you
standing in my patch

with a little budget
a
little badger
little money
little hole
anything can be done
with a stipend
even a wet little home in the ground
even a small little movie
for entertainment
as long as you have a blankie
and body heat
you have a dirty burnt pot
and a sense of adventure
a pattycake

lick my drool

i've been a book
my whole life
a hard bound
classic
 but when i leaned over
to see if my pages were gilded
on the edges
my spine broke
and now i'm all wobbly
have to be careful
when you p ick me up
and the college bookstore worker
wont take me back
except for recycling

I'd rather work
and give people juices and foods
than for even one second
be back in the woods
with you
and my old self

The silver buttons on my shirt are mocking the fadedness of my clothes and the brightness of the moon

Sweet dinner
of meat
with fat on it
eating not for hunger
talking solves nothing
of movement
of gridlock


of needing
the spray of
la mer

Ten thousand degrees
all the lights on
lot full of engines running
sun bright
hot day
funeral
lots of layers

invitation
cheeks bright
head light

aurora borealis
on the plains
biting
unread news

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.

little Us
under little Os
and a little cat
and a little kitten
with wet mouths

inverse v

goes up from my legs to my chin

regular v sits at the bottom of my torso

and at the bottom of my head

I am the alpha and the beta

the pink like an eraserpink

a lifter like  a logmachine

a god like a golden tapestry

a unicorn like a plate glass window

a forest like moldy picklejar

 my long blonde hair

 the sunlight as it plays. 

 the moonlight as it makes me glow. 

 hear the mockingbird and the robin sing to me. 

 be a mermaid! 

 live in this palace of white marble. 

 the green green plants! 

 my sweetwater swimming pool.

 my fragrant grass. 

 hairless body underneath my sheer blue gown. 

 my glittering sky of stars, 

 the rich soil in the ground. 

You are making up your breath

it is fake. 

you make up your food

 at five o clock 

and expect me to eat it

meatballs? 

 fauxballs.

say the word 

and it's yours

and the sky said 

i won't take more

than your breath

and sound 

and i won't take more

than the rain

even the mountains say

that the sun is enough

but I am a world 

and a wind

and i know 

and the words say 

all of breath 

and the food 

is made up

and being independent

like going and buying 

my own 

red fruit

for doing one's own pavement

once out on the road

it's hard to come back home

it's hard to know a bunk

when you're an angel

studying the arrangement of flowers

and the breeding of chickens

and how to feed a pet

is as hard

don't knit. 

johnny walked 

all through the woods 

picking little berries 

and stepping on soft grass

he came into a clearing 

and read his own palm

it said to go up and fork 

and then to go down and fork

but not like a pitchfork

like a meat cutting fork instead

so he went down and split

banana split

split wood 

apple sundae

and then he went up

and split

a whole in the skye