In case of fleas, shave off all body hair.

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All caught up!

10/30 dreamed again. tonight I dreamed of making muffins and babies. I told you (unexpectedly) that you were the only man I'd ever want to make babies with and you told me I was beautiful every day for two-hundred-sixty-six days. we named our children Sweetbelly and Stickylove and when they were outside, we kept them in fruit trees and when they were inside we kept them in our arms. This is how they never learned the feet/ground rules. Then, when we loved too much, we would have to go check on the tomatoes. dreamed again. we didn't have a dishwasher, so that I could take my time with all those muffins. I smiled and told Sweetbelly to be careful. She had jam on her face and it was scorpion season; so then you wrote poetry about scorpions and jam--about sweet tomatoes and muffins. and when it was late at night I would wake and find you rocking Stickylove and fatherhood carefully in your arms--the way my mom used to find dad. Lost in that rocking chair; and then I would lov...
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15/30

15/30 Your Name Means Late-Summer or Warlike Girl, you make me want to say girl in that way where the rrrrrr ’s roll out forever and the i becomes a u . Yeah. That’s right. And you make me want to roll up the bottom of my jeans, shove collected countries in the back pockets and collected men between my thighs. Stop collecting dreams. Girl, you make me want to rock climb—cover myself in that fine chalk powder dust, grunt like I want it, till my hand skin comes off in chunks. And you make me want to eat meat. Fuck chicken and fish. I mean steak. Cooked rare. Make me want to barbecue, corn kernels for floss and watermelon seeds for spitting. You make me want to shower in garden-hoses, drink BudLight around campfires, wear flannel. Want to tan like I was one-sixteenth Indian. Girl, you make me want to get high and ride public transportation with the retarded kids. Or stay up all night driving the screen saver into space. Girl. You make me want to slow. this. shit. down.
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The Lost Years

(are these good enough for you, April? cos I am not convinced) 5/30 I wrote the start of a book about vaginas and four letter words and starvation and war. I won't finish it. I watched a movie about relationships. I won't finish those either. I wrote the start of a poem it goes like this: I was born a winter baby all inconvenience, ice and cold. 6/30 List of things viewed from the seven windows of the sun room: (Giddings Street, Chicago) 1. two ladies, young in appearance, wearing red jeans. 2. one squirrel, crosses the road, refuses a tree, scampers about the neighbors gate. I am distracted by a pigeon (who reminds me of a general) and lose track of the squirrel. He has crossed through three windows, reminding me of cartoon panels. 3. the bottom half of a flier, stuck to a tree, flaps in the wind. 4. three small birds (wrens?) land in the grass. Squirrel and Pigeon are there too. 5. tall and lanky man. I am overcome by a desire to marry him. 6. kids running. baby go...
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