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How to…

Want to write a

          poem 

on a cake

and eat it too

and have it

to have and to hold

sick (sick)

and healthy

not married

But thinking about luck 

(also, typed: lick, also lick)

and the beach

which could equal to salt licks

pink and for horses I think

And snow

and the pink balloon

and heart

and pieces of heart (ouch)

Of being at summer camp

And thinking

In the middle of the day

that I don’t remember what my mom’s voice 

sounds like

like then crying in the car

And the stars (tears) are sad but also

exuberant 

because they are from unicorns

Maybe. I don’t even like unicorns, except I do. The tapestries.

The sand          thing

is there

and makes          me 

feel 

ironically

the opposite             of 

dizzy

Which is I 

don’t

know what

is 

how to eat               it

you have to make   it

write                        it

in the sand 

crunching in your teeth

but only a tiny bit

the candles are flying

and you can pick it up like 

a back - pack

Gum is stuck

but not holding.

 

The candles are falling now

and the dashed lines

are actually

really heavy

and I am not

sleeping

And we don’t have  a baby sibling,

but I do have a kitten. 

(I used to make a lot of wishes      for a sister.)

The candle lights are different 

than flames, more gentle

Like earlobes

with their very fine hairs

are getting your ears pierced

And my Dr. Dog shirt from behind

That I offered to both brothers

But I wear it 

Triple- O

Thick—not thick— firm,

Firm with stains

Meaning

I love it. 

__

 

As for the middle, Gap kids

Forked pronged dotted

and dripping

making this:

< 3 

(adding the space between the two parts,

which are halves, but not symmetrical.)

Speaking of (not )symmetry

Having it be hard to balance otherwise

So doing it

Like you fold it

Like in drawing class

But you don’t fold it, physically

You are bilateral

You kissed it,

In wax

Mixed with a tiny bit of modeling clay

So it’s pink

Named after flowers!

Like you sealed a letter

Ah!

It’s done!

Joe’s sock!
I took it!

I think it’s Joe’s!

It’s a cloth for cleaning glasses!

I ruined it!
I made it better!

Alex drove it here in a Camry. 

(I think it’s a Camry.)

The heat is blasting

and there’s dog hair all over me

And I’m wearing my track clothes

This is when I was still running

The opposite of the ice bath,

The ride home.

No red baseball cap— it wasn’t real,

Making it more   real, 

Because you had to imagine it.

The You is Me,

f.y.i. <— except there, it’s you.

I need to make a friend painting to this one

About when I made costumes 

For me, F and C

After the cards in Alice in Wonderland.

It won’t be literally about that.

It was in a retirement community, that was so brick

—where is this?

It’s in candlelight, but a lamp is on, too, it’s in cool-ish beach light,

Glowing and making your (yours and mine) eyes move,

to think about running in the sand,

Toward

a band, “Are you a band?” “No.” 

What are you?

Definitely. 

I might get more cavities. 

I might want to make some T shirts this color yellow.

I might already have the cavities.

So I might as well eat the poem,

Even though it will be crunchy,

Even though because of the sand, 

and the sweetness

I dreamed about cotton candy last night, 

But it’s not yellow.

This, is.

Because it’s cake?

No. It’s a place. 

We’ve been. 

We can go back whenever we want,

Even after it’s eaten.

That’s house how and why

But I don’t really know when

Except to say

All the time, specifically.

I don’t wear a watch.

But I remember picking,

pink, or purple.

And I picked pink.

Slap-bracelet style, rubber-coated

(That’s why it’s yellow.)

It’s as if I foresaw getting

My orange glasses

Wanting them

Because they were more than the rainbow

More specific.

And for a good cause, Jason told me.

It’s a parallel painting. 

As in not perpendicular, which is the other one, 

which I haven’t made yet.

This is all the body,

The style isn’t a style, really.

Omg a crane? A stork?

Neither, but lots

of clovers.

Not buildings, not babies,

But I tied them all together.

I showed you, too.  (I showed me, but also you.)

It’s laying down the clovers.

It’s not a party, except that there is sadness,

under the table

Dealings

With things you can’t control.

Having been folded,

the cloth,

Dingy yellow.

Not dingy, fuzzy. 

Rounding

itself out.

Like me.

Stapled openly, so that it flaps,

Should there be a gust of wind.

How much time have I spent looking

I didn’t make all the lace,

Or did I?

Who has the matriarchal jewelry box with the butterfly?

I think Carol does.

Persuasion. The beach.

The Mom(s).

It’s the candle at the bottom that says,

Goodnight!

Good Morning! 

General Motors! 

I’m scared of Frog and Toad!

(Because of the motor car.)

Do you feel alive?

It’s not muddy,

But mud is implied. 

Because of the sock, and the clovers.

What about mud at the beach?

How far down do you have to go, to find the mud?

What about the grass?

There isn’t even wet sand here,

but you can still feel it.

I want to make drip castles with you.

And affix berries. 

But let’s not eat the berries.

They might be poison. 

Do you want to put your legs up the wall?

That would look so nice, beside the painting.

More than look.

Tilt that lampshade.

Wipe that desktop with your palm.

Say some imperatives.

The red dots get further apart

Which could mean going faster,

or slower. 

A loop-da-loop.

The Loop-da-Loop, (much safer than Frog and Toad, we have seat belts.)

 

I think I made this painting because I have never been to Disney World. 

(I think that is part of all the paintings.)

Thank God I haven’t been to Disney World.

 

 

 

Did you find that book on your bookshelf and laugh?

Yeah I did.

I lol’d.

I’m glad, even though it’s not the book I was looking for.

The point is I don’t know the extent,

but I think it’s life’s experience,

the scope of human emotion.

But we’re at the beach,

wearing striped polos except I’m wearing a white 

eye-lit shirt.

I insisted the picture be taken. 

Here, you can have a copy, if you want.

We never send out the Christmas cards on time.

Or at all.

It’s more for yellow time, yellow love,

which is now.

So yes, say yes, we should write it!
So yes, say yes, We should eat it!

I already painted it!

But I could take the wax in my hands again, and mold it.

But I won’t. 

I committed it to the page. 

Begin!

Eek I think this poem is too serious.

Oh well!