Tuna's in the wet,
scales slipping in the sea...

Forms are hard, I don't like trying to
*usher my words into something straight, I like...

Poop is smelly, sultry, deep
and full of secrets richly steeped...

It starts at evening, the silent weave of scent
billowing through the door, seeping in the carpet...

I saw a woodchuck wallowing, weeping,
upchucking chucked wood. I wondered if...

I like knees that do not knock,
that do not stay...

I like bikes with sticks
caught in their spokes...

I like trees with lots of leaves,
And dogs that sniff and bark at things...

Let's go back to the rocks again,
where the wind is thick and the foam is slick...

It's the blue face,
that's slick...

Seagull takes the wind:
an elegant, arcing lilt...

Orange lover on my lips,
whispers of sunlight...