Lush lights linger lightly on my legs.

Excess ecstasy jerks in my finger tips.

I have too much of myself.

I am smoldering.

My old jeans make juice from jam.

I’m going to take my face off

and dance with the band.

Please understand.


Frazzled fire

licks me frenetically.

My mind is the Monday after a holiday weekend

that meandered into a new month,

and the paperwork in me chafes and squeaks.

Behind my eyes I am filing.

I have begun 178 projects.

177 are exactly what I have been needing, what I have been waiting for.

1 is even better.

My eyes,

my hands,

my judgment ache,

and all I can hear is agitated paper.

Scrape scrape scrape.




Mania is sweeping

My front door step,

is dancing a jig on my lawn.

My blood is caffeine.

All my colors are hotter than yours.

They burn me,

and turn me on

like a sick freak lover with a cigarette