Baby exists in a vacuum

Baby exists in a vacuum.
She is a projection of all her
mommy's
and poppy's
hopes and dreams of her well being.

They do not expect for Baby to have scurvy.
They do not expect for Baby to be a dancer at the thong ballet.
They do not expect for Baby to be a little boy.
They do not expect for Baby to go die in the bracken.

They feed Baby an orange
They feed Baby a cracker
They feed Baby an apple
They feed Baby a cracker
They feed Baby an eggshell
They feed Baby a bird
They feed Baby an orange
They feed Baby to lions

Poppy, give Baby this tiny wool bear
Poppy, give Baby a set of plastic keys
Mommy, give Baby a book full of kittens
Mommy, give Baby this blanket and bedspread

Baby exists in a vacuum.
Mommy, Poppy, teach Baby how to be alive
Poppy, Poppy, inscribe meaning for every utterance
Mommy, Mommy, make Baby into a cake

Baby, make Mommy lurch for survival
Baby, make Poppy spit up his bile

Swat at the hand that reaches for the hot thing
After her feces, please wash up the linen
Do not take milk baths, do not have sex
Do not make cookies, do not buy pets.
Feed Baby Feed Baby Feed Baby an orange
Feed Baby a cracker
Feed Baby a cracker, feed Baby a cracker

Feed Baby to wolves
Feed Baby to lions
Feed Baby to a pig
Feed Baby to cops
Give Baby a tazer
Give Baby some mace
Give Baby a dolly and dresses and lace

False Start

The sky was harsh and bright blue, nearly white at that hour. I stopped to look at the sky and imagine the relief of a shadow from a cloud or bird passing overhead. Light beat down on me with its full weight, sinking between each cotton fiber and bathing me in heat. Any movement could make my skin touch the heat from my heavy clothing, singeing and clinging. There was no relief from it. There was no life no heaven or respite. I could not possibly be the broad sweeping ocean that I intended myself to be. I was lost as a gull, drowned eight miles off the coast. That gull, at least, had the pleasure of bathing in a cool sea of salt and life. Here there was concrete and dampness only from the salt within. The salt of life creeping out from the wringing of the heat.

wolf (erasure)

The distance is illusory, certain, quiet.
It takes you secret, selfish, connecting.
Foolish nothing:  fools laugh of sugar and knowing.
Curel naivete, unfair knowing.
Embedded and phantom, balloon.
My younger self is illusory.
Look, dear, it is impossible to see.
Clumsily.
We sip cool water to do something.
To say nothing.
This latent heat in a gesture.
We are, presently, exhausted.

Virginia Woolf talks about love

http://ahorsenamedfroufrou.blogspot.com/2010/07/virginia-woolf-talks-about-love.html

throat [erasure]

I open, I want

to issue from my mouth

like a scent

memory to a nostril

I think, I build

silent mountains from air;

[draw] water from oceans

of [cellophane]

[facsimile]

I coat my throat

with honey, aching

with gravel and hurt

babbling [clay] proxy

homonculous:

[which language do you speak?

[do you speak to me]

rest, rest

[I shed, I cloud

[over gray overcast

[fishing for affection,

[frothing and aware]

gullet

coating my throat with honey

after shouting across the canyon

you find a small instance of gravel

in the viscous

in the fire

in the tooth you extract

with your bare knuckles

like mussels you open

sweet meat, organ

in broth you sop with a crust

and you wonder why

you, the magic babbling inventor

did not tie a tin can to a string

to my ear to my mouth to

stretch across the canyon

I shouted across the canyon

on a string

The Bull

Come at me.
Silly man in sequined trousers.
You stand over there, prance around, talk your complex words,
taking your uprightness, your bipedal bounce for convention, regarding it as superiority.

Come at me.
I'll be the king of your circle of dirt. Wave around your stupid cape.
I want to rip your ass to shreds do not discount me don't you dare.
I do not dare to eat you, for I am an herbivore, but I will stamp you to a mash with these hooves.
Fuck you.

Your friends are fags.
Come at me, coward!
Do you need to signal the path to my brain with little tusks?
Pull out your stupid little epee and brandish it with your prissy hand.
I'm tired but I'm not dead.

Your puntillero will get the last bits of me. I will breathe my curse into his face. He will dream of my gore tonight, and my meat will feed hungry men.
Hooray for your triumph over this beast. This is my last paseo.
Ole, motherfucker.