if life doesn’t provide

there’s always fiction

(subtlety) is my calling, and sometimes I heed

others not so much

(intrigue) me with a good look,

the recommendation of a hard book

and I am unmoored

a wild thing

a blood-orange honeyed (bloom)

of a woman

but then, women are rarely what they seem to be

or what they say they are:

that’s just survival

pursuit for peace, just

kidding. vodka, anyway,

the blue stuff of dreams

to be, or switch it,

willow-strong , hard-soft

warrior of love

the mind is where sex

lives, and sure, it travels light

south, and into the body

skin-muscle-blood-bone

then heat descending

and that electric tang gets

dewy on your mind

it begins with a

shift in the air, tangible

and storytelling

she eats the world

and sometimes she speaks

you know that I am fighting

that i am dreaming

that i am tired

that the universe can present as

serendipitous

but, for just a moment, for me, allow

yourself to be magnanimous

and consider that there is more

more color,

more sound

than nations, notions, stories, trees

stars, oceans or emotions

and for that i am thankful

and for that i am joyful

the nighttime geese are back

raucous

timely

and gone