i traipse about
a silent phantom
trying not
to make a sound
the morning air
a pleasant cold
biting at my
exposed flesh
as i stand wearing
a sylvia shirt
holding a mug
of steaming coffee
watching the birds
prance throughout
the naked branches

tomorrow i drive
out into the desert
a different season
in the same state
of anxious agitation
a week early for
the rattlesnake
roundup to sit in
a hotel surrounded
by flat brown too
far from my cave
this morning i seem
to pulsate with this
manic energy sending
my love in cool clear
notes to vibrate the
semipermanence of
concrete cages hung
in smoldering gray

my vagabond soul
unprepared to leave
but incapable of
staying around past
the expiration date
hastily scrawled
on my left ventricle
another desperate
wish foreclosed upon
as i scurry silently
one step ahead of
the bill collectors
and angry boyfriends
who see fit to try
and bleed a fool dry
for peddling piss
poor poetry born from
his inescapable desire


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