Photography by Pierre Bouvier

Does she tell you,

your belly is perfect.

and I like it best

with a little meat

around the button?


Does she say,

I saw the world

s o f t e n

and you—

I went hot glue

when you seeped inside

Me?


Do you wear

your glasses

in the shower

with fog

on the lenses

slipping soap around?

And who could see?

Maybe it was me.

Did you hear?

The world went back

to make believe

and me in a dish

waiting on my green light.

Silk tie.


My eyes look funny

in that petri.

Tiny.

Forgot your glasses

when you looked

through your scope.


There’s my love.

And a couple of eyeballs.

I see different now

Funny how—

Time.

Ya know?


And here come the holly.

Jolly.

Pecan pie.

Little bit of Christmas

and a birth day

slap the new year on

too.

And yours.

Here she comes

with memory’s whip.


New York’s looking

thirsty.

What’s the name again?

That place?

Re-placed

With a Starbucks.

And the dollar is looking sad

and paper-y.


Trees keep kicking

out their leaves.

I haven’t spotted the difference

save that human print

on an already damn good thing

that changed its meaning

with our stamp.


I keep looking

at my breasts

and thinking of nursing.

Babies.

Loads of them.

Those screaming humans

With rose bud

Mouths.


I tossed my bras out.

I just want to feed

the world

let my brain fall out

do a little jig

cross the bridge.

Who’s to say

what’s over there.


I planted some plastic.

It didn’t grow.

What do you know.

Are those the seeds

They sell on Amazon?

We hung a TV.

Ship ship shape.

Tesla guy says it’s all a simulation.

I’m starting to believe.

Did you see that man

With perfect legs.

He said so too.

Magazine three d’d.

Is it in my mind?

Forgot to fill in

a personality.

Walk home.

Keep filling in the grease.

I’m laughing.

Hard.

11:11 make a wish.



Photography by Pierre Bouvier

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