for fun-zies

just for fun-zies, here are some random old poems.

no need to respond if they don't make sense.

that's the point of fun-zies...for fun-zies!

fruitless Cali sand,

silent under snow

and that water must

be fucking cold...

i moon walk on the

untouched ice dunes and

even inflate my belly so as

to honor the extra room

in my moon suit.

i make a sexy astronaut...

but i think i'd miss

the sun,

and the sand-

you can't construct moon dust castles-

i mean, that's just fucking ridiculous.

*february 2007

roasted cauliflower soup gently poured over chipped chunks of gorgonzola

newly wedded to the hand-massaged baby spinach and arugula dish,

dressed with rosemary-honey and plucked pomegranate --

seeds from the first newborn sunflower that christ held between his teeth on the first sunrise of the first celebration of what we now call easter and i can't wait any longer to see you choke to your environmentally sound death despite the logic that you, too, breathe an animals' breath.

panting heavy heated from your spine as the moon licks your sacrum

you ate this earth growling. . .

remember. . . ?

primal, ripping roots, and dripping fruits, and food fighting with

brothers and sisters of the same pack.

so, became this fleshy earths' first carnivore who bit and cackled down the blood?

so, who is the wolf. . . ?

not that it matters. . .

with chops like that.

*february 2007

*i used to be a hostess at the Fiddlehead Cafe.

the menu is...specific.

the clientele is...specific, as well.

tangerine and crushed freesia, this city reeks of women and their oils.

let your hair down, girl! shake out the pony kinks

and loft that Pantene Pro-V to the east,

to the water,

to the maintainence men and coffee house hustlers.

the ladies sure do spritz heavily in the heavenly AM yawns,

too sleepy too hungover from mojito mints and second city sours

with lemony twists and happy hours

purchased by the bosses of bosses and the ass in the office who can only be civil when he's downed two double shots of jagermeister,

all that deer blood to settle his trigger before speaking kindly to his fellow dollar earners.

he hits on the chicky-dee, the fresh one, who got hired 3 weeks ago, who is the friend of the office fatty who brings in doughnuts about twice a month, even though she knows

everyone is on a fucking diet.

but the gesture is nice.

*don't have it recorded what year

namaste, m*tha f*ckas. now, go write a poem.