#jstately

             asscap

i am devouring your rosemary and olive oil triscuits

which may or may not be a metaphor

the polar melt of your hips creates new words for new thresholds

like an external phallus cutting through your internal excitement

i can't believe the world will change that we will make every moment better

and still the best poetry is here

and now

yet the only joy your sultry curves

       travels

neither here nor there as i move from summer to autumn

moving the plants to the school town

you are there which is neither here nor in my arms

     overcast

it was to be the clouds the lake and i

that was

until -- at the slope  a couple in the late model vehicle arrived

i waited, but they stayed and i thought, isn't poetry suppose to be bigger than this

isn't it a sky of endless stars and me alone on a rock or a woman of curves and a kiss

       night tactic

one only has to flick off the light and fall into shades of abandon

where evening becomes play with textures and nuance

and lips become the vehicle of choice

    lost

i'm lost and not

an understanding one

when i can't figure out where something is going i slip

into myself to a place i know with so much less confusion

i read and wonder

about all the possibilities of what i could be and why i seem to not

      shades of indigo

at first i think it is prosperous fish or out of season lightning bugs skimming lower Saranac Lake

but it is stars reflecting off the peaceful lake

the wide sky is filled with all levels of suns shining to me

my head resting on my tonic bottle watching for the dart of stars and thinking about when your head rested on my chest

     parchment

one of the others that works with me

left their 20 bond paper by the printer

since then one coworker is working elsewhere

perhaps using the tan textured paper for a resume

that got her in the door and into the good graces of a new employer

so now i print a poem on he forgotten paper

    you can so

dance in a world that isn't there

but

make the music be desire not fear

the back beat moving round hips in the mild swivel of a wind chime

made of tingling vaginas that