offering an entire body to the sea

1. installment #2 or 3 in this week’s experiment of
morning yoga to
pop/top 40 hits
yesterday it was lupe fiasco
justin beiber

2. sweat shining off the carved chest of the man
running up and down and up (and down)
the georgia street bridge
arcing its concrete curve
over the traffic of university below

3. lorri
lifts my bag of peaches off the scale
it’s ok
you’re taken care of
encourages me to pick out a few more

4. we should start keeping track
shiz says
afer the man outside the avocado stand says
i like your star tattoos
hands me a card for a mission hills tattoo studio
(which is number two for the day
followed later by #3
when elle
after offering a slice of peach
asks what my arm says)

5. while we discuss july being the busiest month
taylor hands me a zinnia bouquet
stems dripping water from the bucket which they were plucked
blooms of
light pink
light purple
exploding in my hand

6. shiz and i
feet from the site of the great orange zest fight
of 2011
spooning the slick thin layer of coconut from its shell

7. shiz and i
ocean determined
on offering her entire body
to the sea
and i
follow suit
and say
not so secretly
i am scared
of the ocean
to which she responds
not so secretly
so am i

8. if you don’t write a detail about those birds
lester says of the pelicans
spin-diving into ocean
feeding amongst seaweed patches at bird beach an hour or so before sunset
i’ll never read your blog again

9. on our walk back
through an endless cloud of flies rising from the beach
a white crane
(or something like it)
tucked in cliff-edge tree/bush outgrowth
moving strange slow
its white brighter than any other white
its white cutting itself against the yellow sand-cliff crumble
at first we think its injured but later
i say
it must have been some kind of spirit bird

9. from the back seat
while we
wind our way closer to the i-5
i spread almond butter across the cratered surface of
a corn cake
and pass them up
one by one
to lester
to shiz
the sea world christmas tree lit up
as a patriotric tree during every season other than

10. the aggro youngish man
loading up band equipment in the truck in front of us while
lester parallel parks
first he
motions and shouts obnoxiously
then he
insists on lester stepping out of the front seat
slides into the drivers seat
to do the job for him
jerking up the parking brake in victory
leaving the vehicle
at least
two feet
from the curb

11. el zarape man reads out numbers
over a microphone at the register
how he puts the word
before the number
and how leaster
cleaning up his spot at the table says
something about how
strange it is to be eating
while all those numbers are being called out

12. shiz and i pass the black ball point back and forth
playing the knuckle tattoo game
where each of us thinks up one four letter word
then pens it on one hand of the other
until the mystery tattoo is completed/revealed
which tonight
leads us to
fire weed
fist bird

13. i used to think it sounded like the subtle footsteps
of a giant making its way slowly to our house
shiz says
in her slight lisp
of the distant disneyland fireworks
of her childhood nights

from here we see how the city is set on a curve

1. headed in the direction of coffee
it’s not the first time
thomas plays lucky dragons
i might like them
and it is also not the first time
i said
this shit sounds good

2. while thomas pronounces the les
in the les girls sign off rosencrans
in perfect french
red monster truck to our left awaiting turn signal
i make some kind of joke about how most folks
probably pronounce it more like ‘less’
less girls

3. san diego to our left
(a skyline
a bridge rising and falling in one smooth curve-arc
an airport)
ocean to our right
and a cemetery of identical white headstones
spilling endlessly
along the side of the road

4. from here we see how the city
is set on a curve
where concave of land and
convex of ocean

5. climbing the nautilus shell curve of stairs
at the old point loma lighthouse
i press my nose to plexiglass
rooms frozen in the era of 1855 i
want to live here
i say
which is what i always say
when visiting places set up like they used to be
at least 100 or more years ago

6. we
in search of the
1855 travel portal
all we have to do is jump
while shouting out the time/place
we hope to be transported to

7. felipe
standing at pathfork
in mock-lostness
doubled over
with very real laughter
and then
the chipotle jokes ensue

8. yes
we are 35, 29, 29 and 23
but we might as well be 12 with the way
we laugh upon discovering the names of flowers and birds
(blue dicks and wren tit)
printed in black on silver signs as we descend
1.5 gravel miles down to the ocean portal

9. this bench reserved only for those
with awesome sandwiches
pay no attention to the NRA cap atop the salmon-shirted man

10. you guys want wind or air conditioning?
t-square asks
fleetwood mac rising out of backseat speakers
i mean
how can anyone say no to wind in your hair when fleetwood mac is playing?

11. we agree
on the genius of the lyric
you said you’d give me light but
you never told me it’d be fire

12. i choose
the slice of peach pie
and from there on out
we pretty much agree to not purchase any item less than

13. we
step into saltwater
up to our knees
draw cards from the dirty tarot
hiding our contraband glass bottle
which, the ray ban man tells us in a german accent,
is a $300 fine

14. pigeons
drinking from puddles of exhaust
that bus #30 drips out its tail pipes
onto the asphalt of the old town transit center

15. a study in soil properties arrives
via the usps
for a sideyard superstar
in the form of sixteen samples of hydrangea blooms
petals purple blue and pressed into plastic
the closest to porch-perching
we may come
from 900some miles apart

16. if that’s not the feel-good film of the year
i don’t know what is
shiz says
i mean
am i right or am i right?

17. one of eleven new moon intentions:
to continue cultivating the shine/beacon within
that draws/is drawn to the shine/beacon within others
and an open door to an army of lovers
to understand/to feel/to know that there is plenty of time
to be fed/nourished by change and uncertainty
and to understand
in the face of family
my autonomy remains intact

18. shiz living room stretching
her hand collides with ceiling-dangling candle holder
how in san diego she kindof feels like she’s in another country
how just moments earlier in the shower
canada or something

19. here i
might have some patches i can send you for sewing on or
some newshoe-scuffing techniques
anything that might bridge you over into your
punk activist summer camp

having ascended summer mountain

1. shiz and i plus wall-leaning mattress
fill the room
with our cat-cows and triangles and
i fly in crow pose while you
press your back into floor and
cup your knees in your hands

2. i slice up two oranges
6 wedges slipped into a platebowl
one for you (purple)
one for me (blue)

3. security guard at albertsons
when asked how he’s doing
talks about the shade and spending as much time in it
as he can

4. clear water sloshing in glass gallon
cradled and head-balanced in your hands
i like to pretend
i tell shiz
that we’re back in the waipio valley
(hiking 15 minutes out towards the ocean
to gather drinking water at the spring)

5. you call them
spring sproing birds
in upside down handwriting and
i laugh out loud
for the specificity
the sharpness of your memory
and how puzzle-piece fitted i feel

6. a sketched horse released from its stable
munching on grass patches near the address part of  the
sunken ship postcard
it is the word endings
that drops the weighty anchor
and the word transition
that lifts it up again

7. this song embeds itself in skin
the air itself
i imagine listening in a year or two
and how the hum
the rhythm
the pitch and texture
will carry me back
to this
the place where seasons rotate
longest day of light here and gone
having ascended summer mountain
and having begun the trek back down

8. we walk past the plumeria plant
for the second time in a day
both times bending down to pick up
fallen fragrant flowers
this is not as good as hawaii
but at least it smells like it

9. knock em dead
you say
and mouth to mouth em back alive
feeding each syllable slipped mama bird style
past their lips/ears/hearts
and even if this communication is out of line
it couldn’t have been any better time or any more
perfectly worded

10. four rows back i send secrets in through the side door
when i think i’m not looking
until eventually
i surprise myself
with the truths that choose to surface

11. gathered in a sideyard
we mill near the snacks and drinks
before fitting ourselves into seated formation

12. five poems and i go from zero to onfire in the sideyard
in a matter of minutes
the power of being witnessed
the power of sensing
in the silence
each of you
and offering
i’m right here with you
without even realizing
you had allowed me to take you there in the first place

12. dark hair held back with a crocheted flower she
turns around to tell me
how my work/words made her cry
later christina reports
two other women
wiping at their eyes
which might mean nothing more than
something in them
recognizes something in me
and the recognition is like the shock of running into an identical twin
you never knew you had
followed by the calm
of finally discovering the context
for feeling like something was always missing

13. dearest shiz
five feet from me as i type
curled under the pinkgreenpurple afghan grandma siedlewski knitted
my deepest
for being with me
for chopping salad while i hand-typed details
for stopwatching me while the poems tell me which ones want to go on tonight
for letting me link arms with you on university
in an attempt to
bend time
i am


1. two spoons in the backhouse
fight against morning in 15 minute increments

2. not quite an orange
but just as radiant
carrot juice
(plus kale, cucumber, celery)
i sip slow

3. everything’s physics these days
goes the car conversation
from ships to planes
and also
in regards to breathing
the air is waiting to come into us

it’s a pressure/balance thing

4. i hate to interrupt
i say pointing out
the driver in the car next to us at the red light
talking with their hands
not ASL
but broad and specific sweeping gestures
a patch of jewels glimmering on the left hand ring finger

5. er, how do you say it in your language?

6. along with summer camp wishes
a joke about the green bean brand
at your elbow
sometimes i practice saying see you later
rather than saying goodbye

7. this just in:
quincy troupe is not dead
i repeat
quincy troupe is not dead

8. i use the word magnetism
in the same conversation that corinne
shares this song
and how wrong is it that we are
a continent apart
wishing each other away from our respective coasts
into the warm waters of the same longitude

9. for you
not only windchimes
but a line that goes
i want to undo the ache of distance
pull our front porches a little closer to each other
build a rainbow so that we may walk over the arc of it
to find each others faces (gold)

10. i could give myself over to ache
or i could scrub the silver pots
dissolve the sugar in steeped tea
set the mothers afloat in a
new briney sea

11. 1/4 of an apple
cleansliced and left on top of  bench
at university and lousiana
#7 and #10 bus stop

12. shiz
sunfilled and walking across the tracks
we sing
i say goodbye, and you say hello
goodby goodbye

13. we madlib our way through
our own biographies

14. it was the
vegan cheesecake
that put us over our edges
sugardrunk we stumble towards bird park

15. lester
tosse the pile of hair on the metal frame of playground equipment turned wigstand
while we three swing below
don’t let me forget the wig
he says
seaworld fireworks in the eucalyptus distance
we humming the free willy song

16. shannon on her back on the hardwood floor
imitates a cockroach
flipped upside down
legs and arms scrambling through air

lupe fiasco affirms that the show goes on

1. running shoes tied on over 3mile yellow desert and baseball field terrain
the woman who smiled as we crossed paths earlier
a paper coffee cup in hand
this time yells at ivy the dog to put it down
ivy emerging from the sage brush
an already-dead rabbit hanging in its mouth

2. jane’s addiction floating in through open window under semi-gray skies
clouds shift like tectonic plates
from two doors down at the de-con/re-con site
along with me
along with tv

3. at the tea-drawer manvi opts for something with caffeine
a tin of rose petal black in her hands

4. even though we are here to talk about portland
i can’t help but offer:
-guilt is useless and therefore obsolete and therefore no longer yours to handle
-you deserve to put yourself first
-you owe nothing
later i cut and paste and send an image of wings

5. dirt-wet layers thumb-rubbed from garlic harvest
before twisting greenyellow stalks in twine and hanging them in the breeze
of the frontdoor stairway

6. bird electric-pole perched plucks feathers from its lunch
downy snowflurry carried east on wind
while smaller bird with blackwhite tailfeather
divebombs squawking in distress
while i don’t speak bird i think i still get the
sentiments of grief

7. the library of congress calls him a ‘national treasure
is one way of introducing bob milne,
ragtime pianist and symphonic-brain extraordinaire

8. newly cleaned car already acquired four new layers of filth
we pass a double decker school bus with the first s missing
(chool bus)
headed north on a highway cut through the valley while lupe fiasco
affirms that the show goes on

9. a dog the color of ground cardamom
and a gate as high as my hips how
i must dramatically leg-lift my way over

10. sun unravels itself
spun orange-gold yarn over sequin water
between cloud patches
which does not keep us from heeding rule #3 of the denverites:
if at the ocean, one must go in the ocean
while i push into the waves frothing in you
jump training for next summer’s olympics

11. on the sandy climb back up beacons beach comes the joke about
yelping about this bench
(4 stars: great view but a little uncomfortable
3 stars: everytime i come here, there’s always a wait)

12. connecting the dots between
scarcity and
the proof is in the stacks of unused slate in the sideyard
and an oven that required a trip to canada for the buying

13. we hi-five on the walk back
(before or after i almost got killed by stepping into traffic
i didn’t know was there)
at my mismanagement of  summer sublets
and how it at least afforded us this

14. what it must have been like
ten years old and present as your mom
naked and submerged pushes your baby brother through birth

15. your friend your father
kombucha only an expert could have made
the longer you keep them bottled
the more fizzy they get

16. your brother piled
and so
might i add
are you
channeling homer simpson’s hatred for pants and
waving your hands in the air
like you just don’t care

the force of missing is a kind of displacement/a manifesto for the summer fallow fields

the windchimes told me everything i needed to know

transformed momentum into sound
turned metal striking metal
into music
rang out reminders of place and presence tugging me up the coast and across time
how the force of missing is a kind of displacement

the poems have been buried for the summer
have nudged me towards nest-edge
like a mama nudges its babies

i don’t even know what’s going on in lybia

there has been yoga
there has been ocean
there have been slow motions towards arranging tea and lodging in other cities
there has been balboa park running
and mint chocolate gelatto
and homemade waffles and
extravagant tuesday night dinners
smell of garlic still stuck to fingers

there have been some books i have opened
words i have shaken out
like one might shake sand out of a beach bag
there have been spines
and my fingers finding their way along them
there has been sweat surfacing to skin in a 90 degree room while i
discover ways that being in my body feels effortless and
ways that being in my body feels like trying to fold a map (mis-folding on all the wrong creases)

if there is a manifesto for the summer fallow fields
this might be it
so listen up corinne

i loved it when you helped me weigh
the difference between
what i think i’m supposed to do
and what i want to do
and how i discovered
that it’s not different parts of me trying to cooperate, but actually
two different me’s pushing against each other
bruising up the inside of my ribcage
and i’m pretty sure the oceansalt in-the-moment me is winning
which makes the writer-me panic a bit
which takes me back to the nest where the mama pushes the baby birds out
thing is, the chances are pretty likely that the baby birds will fly

so what is not to trust about whittling a day away
it might be the most important work yet
this body refuses to do anything that looks like going to school
when it doesn’t have to
in fact
i am still massaging out pockets of grief from under this skin
(forearms. calves. hips.)
as a result of
mostly sitting with my neck curved over into a book
or a pile of papers
i am still
panicked at the thought of having to face that concrete abomination of architecture
even though the brain-tingling thinking that happened inside of those structures was good

for several days now i have been catching
movements out of the corners of my eyes
and turning my head to find nothing there
which is the way i describe seeing what i think are

and the crickets at night
are the thing i keep coming back to

just around the corner from the windchimes
i plucked a yellow and white plumeria
brought it home to a jar of water
just like i did
on one of our first days in this laundry-softener-smelling city

and yesterday
when the yoga teacher suggested to think of a person or a group of people with whom we want to share the light that our practice brings us
i thought of lybia

flags at half mast i ask

1. nine something a.m. i log into
the bloodhut

2. jasper
peeking around from the back seat
one blue/white eye and one tiger eye
australian shepherd spackled black white tan and tailless
the kind of creature that doesn’t have to try very hard
for me to instantly adore

3. entering ocean beach in a gold-ish colored fourdoor
windows down
ryan tells me how he heard NPR cover a story on broetry
(poetry for dudes)
and while the name is brilliant
everything else about it has us shaking our heads at the sunwashed stucco buildings we roll past

4. rolling south on the 209 we both laugh at
cup of yo
frozen yogurt place stripmalled next to subway

5. post office flags at half mast i ask
if that’s for amy winehouse
to which ryan responds
maybe it’s a war day or something
to which i respond
every day’s a war day these days

6. a softball diamond turned dog park
sandy yellow and plants dried brown against
the unending pacific hope diamond blue

7. unknown so-cal plant #43506:
spiky growths not unlike a chestnut husk
growing in bunches
bushes not trees
where moonscape of blonde sand/rock meets

8. we wing it at the wash-your-own-dog place
fumbling and wondering
is this how you was a dog?
shampoo-scrubbing jasper’s smore’s colored sides and
spraying down his sand-coated legs
it was sad when he tried to jump out
ryan says later

9. a phone call dialed from the beach to find out whether the tide
is coming in
or going out
the pelican shadows
cast themselves across the sand

10. saltwater crashpounding sandshelf
before it crashpounds my feet
my thighs
my hips set and squared
against the ocean momentum

11. post-triangle we
a 90degree room of glisten-skin humans
parallel our feet and bend forward
crown of head grazing floor
rachel half leans-on
half slow-pulls the skin of my thighs
into a new way of being

12. must be something about
riding bikes over bridges
beacause pedaling on adams over the 805
gives me enough perspective to say/feel
whoah, i live in san diego!
red and white head and tail lights
snaking through the cool-aired canyon below
i’m hung out over it like a tshirt on a laundry line

13. i don’t brag i mostly boast
without fail
my favorite missy elliot lyric
(and occasional adopted mantra)
of all time

our bodies are made of so much skin

1. in the dream
we took a photo of an energetic tree
and then became it

2. there’s a chance
that mosquitoes could qualify as four-legged creatures
but you’re the mathmagician here
and i’m still waiting on the answer to what happens
when a train leaves one station
at 25 miles an hour
and a mattress leaves the other
traveling south at 10

3. some kind of modified triangle pose
just like the curb-walking
puts us

4. i’d offer you fruit
i say
but checking the kitchen
we have none
i remember the refrigerator
and inside of it
a bag of over-tough cherries

5. a little bit of
extra moisturizer
our bodies are made of so much skin
there is always someplace
to massage it in

6. first song of the morning
like pulling thread with a needle pinched between fingers
stitch in stitch out stitch in
through fabric
second song of the morning
follows suit

7. taylor and i
laughing over radishes/radishi
before her friend and i talk about
tattooing and how he wants to get his own gun
and i tell him that practiciing on grapefruit
is one of the closest things to practicing on human skin

8. dear sweet tree fruit stand friend
it was
so crowded
a woman tried to save me from running into the sharp corner of her
shopping bag
and people were pressing in on all sides
and i saw you there in the green Tshirt
but it was impossible to get your attention
and i think
if we can
we should rig up some kind of message delivery box
so that if this happens again
i can at least leave you a note

9. corinne
in ripe form
carries me into the light
tells me about the teal clear of the dominican ocean
this means i have to open my eyes while i talk to you
she says
pillow lounged
gchat face to gchat face
the stories
how i’ve missed the outrageous stories
and the laugh with which you tell them
including ivette
who’s been quoted saying something about how she’s just here
to hit it and quit it

10. corinne making her trouble/working her magic
amherst, massachusettes

i want you to go to gautemala and learn spanish
to all of which i say

11. this is an important question
she says
while typing
is 2012 a leap year?
tells me how when she moved away from providence

she left on february 29th

12. rush on the kitchen radio
i ponder the possibility of teaching yoga class to classic rock
while snarfing alex’s
potato/sweet potato/ carrot mash
radicchio cucumber celery lemon tahini salad
and several crisped slices of fried tofu bacon

13. a kind of bedtime story
honna’s audio project for fancyland’s 10th anniversary celebration
raki says it best when she says
how people’s brightest selves
when they are on the land

if we allow our language to become whole

1. i’m a cowboy
on the steelhorse i ride

somehow this song never gets old as a bike anthem
and i sing out
in self defense
a shield against any oncoming vehicles

2.  the sideyard rummage i
wrap the grayjeans waist around my neck
laughing while i explain
this is one way to see if the waist fits

standing near the card table and the bejewled clasp purse

3. we are wearing the same outfit
i share as we set out
tennis shoes
the only difference between us being 29 years of age

4. zeia sixy years old sways horse-style on canyon swing rope-looped to gargantuan eucalyptus
while we talk about our sliced up writing and
what might happen if we decided to not give a fuck
what might happen if we meld together the fragments
what might happen if we allow our language to become whole

5. liz ‘plants’ three fennel flowerheads in a row
in a crack on the log
tricking the bee which insists on landing on one of them immediately after

6. parrots
she tells me
wild parrots finally
a name for the squeaky birds of san diego

7. highway 163  rumbling to our left she asks
if zeia can hear through the brim of her red-rimmed straw hat
desert dust stonebumps rounding under our thin soled shoes

8. rising up on the other side of the highway:
the gondola lift cars swinging slow on twisted (almost braided) metal cables
the museum-of-man dome and belltower
camels circling their zoo stalls
and somewhere in there
the icee man
selling shaved/crushed ice plus sweetsyrup in paper cones
and us
as if discovering some kind of ‘civilaztion
we odd and some kind of spectacle
telling stories of lost friendship rings

9. things found/discovered:
two plastic leis draped from hikepath shrubbery (one purple, one pink/red and made from the same stuff as the astroturf on our walk back)
what zeia calls ‘mini acorns’, what i call ‘eucaplyptus tree seed pods’
hot pink succulent plant with water bursts attached
a too cumbersome walking stick and a too small walking twig-stick

10. somewhere between returning to the cool of my room
and a walk towards water
this song
on being heard

11. number 2736 in the catalogue of kaya’s screams:
kitchen introduction handshake
her knuckle purpled from last night’s bike spill

12. we
laughing in the kitchen while alex
in too tight light blue jeans
demonstrates pigeon pose

13. number thirty one
in a list of thirty three
becoming the future

14. two fallen leaf spears we
fake-fence in the company of
flowering cacti
sun purple-oranging the east
your side pierced you cough pretend blood saying
but there’s something you should know
i am left handed

15. would you walk across this? (regardless of your answer,
you’re not allowed to right now)
you ask of the 1-foot wide bridge ledge we lean over

traffic and trees 120 feet below
i wonder if there is a name for the sense of feeling one’s body pushed
towards the plunge

16. hill-perched in the lights of the plane parade
you operating as a collective memory
you as an idea company employee
regarding caretaking i ask
if there is room for you to have any of your own stuff’
(stuff being sadness, fear, complicated feelings, etc.)
while you joke
no really, take this, i don’t need it anymore
offering your silver water bottle, your backpack, the cardigan off your back

17. balancing on curb-edge
while you walk dipped half a foot below
so our eyes
may do a better job at meeting
the opposite formation of today’s earlier
bridge crossing with a self identified six year old mountain girl

18. shoulders and forearms sun-pinked
this afternoon’s canyon heat radiating out my fingertips along the rib-ridges of your side
pretty is one word
for the way the bones have arranged themselves under your skin

the give and sway/in the making i become

1. 7:30 am
they are up and tearing away at that house again
reggae on the radio
and the tiny dog with the sharp bark
who’s been going off all week long
starts up
and i
lean over shipbed
whip curtains open and yell out his barky barky name
my blood
prickling in my viens
in addition
the sounds from down the hall at 2am
the give and sway
of this precarious
could have been an earthquake

2. kaya
in the kitchen after i flex my bicep for her

3. mail carrier at our front door
two packages in her hand
with two different names on them
both mine

4. nettle’s full color memorial to asha unfolding in my hands
(asha the creature that moved numerous strangers on various hiking paths across the country
to ask if she was a wolf)
accompanied by a paint sampled letter of grief
it is not just the otherworldly 15 year old canine creature passing
it is also the deep respect
with which nettle writes
that takes me down at the knees

5. holding the box of cardboard
and that lightning bolt scrawl
in my hands
placing it on ship-rung like an offering on an altar
before slicing along
the dotted lines

6. the dried blueberries were fantastic already
but then, you had to go put them in a fancy bottle
with a typewritten label
plus miles of thread
upping the power-up capabilities by kazillions

7. the smell
of palo santo
a gold thread looping me
along the coast
towards a trainbridge
not far north from here

8. shadow magic extravaganza
plus stars
sea creatures
and a glass door hinging open at the chest

9. i think you should try your best to be in the moment
she tells me
enjoy it as best you can
this is not rocket science
but exactly what i needed to hear to bring me back into my body
my outlook
my life

10. blue short sleeve tshirt
man in his mid 40’s
aye yai yai‘s
in bare feet across the hot asphalt
i cannot help but smile at the cartoonness
and he cannot help but smile back
and say something about yeeeeow
that parking lot’s hot

11. park bench hour in the sun
lifesparked by the musical rotation inspired by three years ago
(song one
song two

song three

a present self forgiving a past self
or, a present self able to step further back and see past the edges the past self saw
or, just one arrival in a series of arrivals
eyes bluesunsky staring

walking home melted like a dreamsicle
i tell myself
is necessary

12. cartographer to cartographer i transcribe and send
the first maps
in cursive and print and in the making i become
in the making

13. pedaling against wind
kaya and i ride the side streets
north to adams to a room where we will roll out our mats
to a room where i will look down after only five minutes and see the sheen of sweat
on the sloped tops of my bare feet
a room where the sheen of sweat eventually turns to rivulets which eventually gather and in the gathering pick up momentum
rolling down my fore-arms
my knee-backs
the slope of my nose
a room where i am softened by the 90 degrees and
sliced open
heartgold pouring out

14. alex, kaya and i order the neatloaf
while elize goes for the portabello wrap
i am still yoga-glowing and for dessert
mango shake with four straws

15. powering down 30th
i attempt to outrace all the cars
because it is safer ahead of them
in the empty patch of street and the thing is
i could
outrace anything right now

16. a text comes in from the lex in san francisco
basically saying
what the hell am i doing here? i hate bars!
and it is this that makes me miss you and think about the
helluva game night we could host if we lived in the same city