Mizz C. D. Wright

Cutting pepperonis with the heavy bond scissors.
Where are the crayons?  This napkin is magnificent.
Textured, like C. D. Wright.
Would she have a cup of coffee with me
if I drive from the rust belt to her house?
Will you have a cup of coffee with me
if I drove from the outer system to her house?
I won't stay long.
I won't bring the entire ship with me, that's foolish.
Can I park in your driveway?
C. D., can we talk about
your garage lighting?
The tail end of a pencil snags in my jean pocket
every time I put it through the wash.
I am scared I will find the other end
inside my foot, trying to talk, chew gum, and walk
a friend through my apartment
before their tongue cradles my privates.
Making a sandwich with no fingernails inside,
I know focus is  hard like clouds or something- Winter.
The slink slip. Yes?  No.
Not at all.
Gather meal together,
crush it into a ball.
How do you access moments, C. D.?
Have you ever
torn a toe nail off to the root to see if you could?
Teach me.  Teach me!
So that I can brush my teeth and
never wash my hand again.
The cyclist next door
rips his motor over and over,
cussing his phone and the woman on the other end.
Volunteer fire department employee pays well,  except
when it doesn't.  She's got go. I promise.  Hell,
I'll buy the plane ticket and walk
when I touch down.
Hugging my knees on the fire escape,
plans are laid for a wonderful garden, Wright.
I think you would be proud,
the cherry inside my mouth hisses.
Turn the music down.  The neighbors.
What do the backsides of your ears smell like, C. D. Wright?

You Are: Aye (song for my crush)!

The hook of your nose.  Your shitty
been up all day
hair.  The stink of you and your laundry pile.

You awe.    Eye shadow?  No, black eye
from not enough sleep, or was it restraint?  This time,
heels across the end table, rained through and bubbling on your porch,

finish on fake wood, toes wiggling,
we'll talk about light fixtures and plans for
horses powered by unicorn clouds.  Or farts.

Your smile is tame.
Your leggings are awful great.
You're never here when I am.

Myself the same.  I want to know.
My coordinates?  They're encrypted for a reason.
You awe.

Inspection.  Not authorized.  Inspection.  Not authorized!
Inspection.  Not fucking authorized!
Shoulder to shoulder in the yard.  Watching ships come and go.

Turning their lights on.
Shutting down.  Turning their engines, exotic and common, over and
gone.

You are.
Can I wash your hair?  You look like you've been
up too long.  I have.  I promise to be gentle.

I don't really smoke either.
Can I?  It's dumb.  I know.  To ask.  Putting.
I won't.  Don't mind my eyes.

Piecing you.  Assembly required later.
Recreating and rebuilding the vision.
That burst sun rays in the afternoon along your neck

while your head rested on your fist
and the wine bottle  mouth gathered flies
and our insides went
tick tick tick tick.

I love you.
Saying hello and coming out
a screaming white hot AYE!!!!
My toes wiggling in the summer air
on the other side of the table
searching for film and reel and real
in common.
You awe.

The Little Prayer

With speed,
we go to fight the unseen,
to make tawt fabric of the seam.

With light, we go,
without, still teethed,
through fortnight, fort in flames,
flag waves, inside the siege.

Pick up wherever ends find you.

Lay claim the corners.

The lines?  They drew.