Confessions

Dear, move those fig leaves

in front of your eyes, I've been

soaking my soul in Epsom salt all night

but the damn thing is still infected–

open sores oozing personality

that's so sweet, confectioners cream treatment,

“problem must be in the soil,

only thing constant is the run off rains

that reduced me to one rich inch

slathered over rocky clay,” chocolate frosting

on a perfectly prepared pan cake.

Happy Birthday everyone

celebrate with a slice

and a candle that won't light

make a safe wish

so good to see you

don't worry about staining the furniture

it's impossible

wrapped in plastic

even the future is tired

watching all these broken pots

pour their insides down hillsides

into the silt choked beds of rivers

that keep running into our quadruple bypass retirements

plaque-for-plaque

and the pressure purses her lips

and hips and trips me up

tips me over and pours me out

God, I've been so afraid–

trying to fill sandbags with collectors spoons

and social security. 

The best thing to do when you're bored

is sleep. In my dreams I'm a man,

in my dreams. Darling I'm sorry,

this whole time I've been trying

to love you with two minds

or two hemispheres, whichever came first

but how can it be fall and spring at the same time

let's get on a plane and fly to wherever

it's always summer and I'll never

always have to stand up for anything finally

safe from safety hiding arm-in-arm

alone, make a wish

take a bite,

then blow.