love
grow
inside
my 
head
grow
on
neck
on
side
of 
street
grows
tree
a
swing
bebop
thing

all nations bow
all states kowtow
states low n ripe w it
northwesterly winds bend the left handed 
twist the right handed and ambidextrous 
and we need all to twist the lines 
they drew new maps and implanted 
eye was given far too much importance 

whattabout the ear? 
whattabout. umm. the ear. 
is it sexy? yes. what’s that saying
about having two ears n one mouth 
u should use them proportionately 
always thought a 90/10 split was 
“more appropriate”

Los Angeles, 2020

gate gait
yr stride thru those doors
plate plait
the porcelain twisted
fate fait
what is done is done

-two bars-

bubblingubblingubblingup
bubblingubblingubblingup
bubblingubblingubblingup 
bubblingubblingubblingup 

bubblingubblingubblingup 
bubblingubblingubblingup 
bubblingubblingubblingup 
bubblingubblingubblingup 

the mirror is a mirror, nothing more
until, one day, it is a door
beyond the mirror stage of love
what antiques will I find in those dusty little rooms?
what small notes and messages will I find left behind?
luvrs quarrels n spits n spats
n soft words like “i’m here b”
i’m here

there are days
where u will have 
to fight tooth and nail
and other days
where it all comes ur way
and still u will want to wail n fight
bc that’s what u expect 
that’s the day to day
so I don’t know how to act 
when I get up 
but I’m ready to scrap
and play

rush hour exhibitionism
I wave and dance
catch ur eye
from yr Mercedes-Benz
Toyota, Tesla, or Pontiac Vibe

rush hour voyeurism
u call out to me
at a cross-walk 
and I’m too excited to see u really 
to talk

cruising 
is queer survival
crossing scents on the blood 
hound trail - to those that would do me harm 
en garde. 

joyriding 
is the very same
crossing streets, stalling, waiting
and then going

strolling
oblique feeling (my dog)
around in the park 
play the xylophone! in the park
an installation made possible 
by the arts 

ur not sick?
of gerunds and verbs
ear Brand

ear rhythm
& poem
hand meaning
& ghost 

do I need verbs 
like I act
do I need money
like I live
do I need sex
like I hold
do I need to write
like I read

back when I was a bug
a wee little bug
things were never this hard!
I drank my morning dew
and feasted on mites
communed with sprites
everything was allllllllright

back when I was a worm
I didn’t yearn so much
didn’t wallow or grovel
I wriggled free, baby! 
did the dirt a big favor
and shared my spoils easily 
soil through skin

back when I was a star
I was far out and few between
the twinkle in your eye, wasn’t I?
not some notch on a warriors belt
but the eye serpentine
and also an elf

Dinah thinks this poem will turn sour 
like when I was a bunch of grapes 
we jostled for rank and status 
on the vine that was our home
 
our cage
and what rage 
to be smashed 
distilled
and swilled

“nothing scares a wino but running out of wine” 
nothing scares a grape but leaving the vine

please teach me 
how to be a bug again

I luv to scream
n yelp
n howl
n squeeeeeeeeal
n squeak!!
n stutter
n stall
n SCREECH 
n skskskksksks
n purr
n preen
n prowl
n mewl 
n meow
n sigh

listening 
to the little sounds 
tap & click & creek

a soft sigh
ur hand on my thigh
diaphragm expanding contracting

a mockingbird in brush
nestles rustles scuttles 
& sings