the sea
will serenade
if allowed
be still and listen
to the ceaseless chatter
rolling its course
an audible blanket
when we sleep
the lull sedates
our bodies
acclimate
to the rhythm
of reefs and gallons and time
voicing its assurance
that we are shielded in its vigil
from the approaching tide.

somewhere
in the quantity of texts
the concept was lost
williams’ branches and hens
bled into
ginsberg’s anal carrots

women around the world
are playing solitaire
in sewing rooms
at clean dinner tables
or footrests
some with ash trays
cola (bourbon, maybe)
cats dogs
birds
prime time television
conducting the mad symphony
of brushing teeth
washing faces
turning off the music
putting their homes
to bed

the aftermath of dinner
should contain a rainbow
of ingredients and utensils
including but limited to:

dirty plates
(at least two)
pepper mill
empty wine bottle
silverware
balled up napkins
cat sleeping soundly against leg
movie still in progress
feelings of satiation
languid, dreamlike state

bits of yellow paper
napkins folded in fours
business cards pamphlets
cardboard pizza boxes
palms of hands
even dollar bills
scrawled with china markers
bic pens sharpies pencils
covered in one-liners
bursts of inspiration
poems without an end
stuffed into books
(only the ones i read)
tucked away waiting
to be elaborated
not nessecarily kept
secret from you
just shy little seedlings
waiting to germinate
and bloom