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

bee among hornets
among flies among 
grapefruit & OJ & tea

on the candle 
picking at its layers of use 
digging into the wax

fretting over this & that
soft sweet wood 
soft sweet sleep

to tear my fingernails 
and weep
unconscious 

oh buzz 
oh sing
the flower at the center 

the flies go further 
than any other bug
would dare to enter 

yes I wanna get free
yes I like my girls
taller than me
no I don’t think, ever
is a time outside of time, for ever
is a time inside of time
please baby please baby 
baby baby please

the horny poet is dying
doesn’t remember names anymore
tries to think about her lovers
but can’t conjure anything but images

             their faces 

little kisses. and regrets. 

feeling icky and bricky
two weeks           behind on estro
mones and mood swingin like Bird
hey may b I’ll take a trip 2 Camarillo
and they’ll make a special arrangement for me to relax
put in a good word for me
at CSUCI (see?)
Foucault would crème his pants another prison has become school

the new-old language 
that’s in my thighs
my swing my tilt
and do-si-do 

i bounce with you
feel the stomach 
tighten up

To (re)quest
For an (un)alter(ed) destiny 
“Defend the dead / weight of circumstance” 

make circles 
round
make circles 
round 
make circles 
round
make circles