for the sweaty girl

his face is buried

beneath my arm -- we're drunk

and being silly.

"it's like celery --

your southpole -- all musty and

earthy; umami."

yesterday, around 3:45p

HEY KID, YA BEAUTY
IS KILLIN ME !  LOOKIT YA.
said mister postman.

a skinned knee

flecked with the day's dirt,
it blooms and re-blooms with each
bend of her body

how to cope with a screaming toddler -- a 3-pronged protocol

strap the offender

into their stroller;  shirt and

shoes are optional.

pop in your earbuds

and crank your fav metal jam

up to eleven.

bask in the judgment 

of others as your child flails

and flops while you walk.

NEGOTIATING

WITH TERRORISTS IS NOT WHAT

WE DO. PERIOD.

IKR ?

in my dream last night

i met Ellen and Portia

at some event slash

gala slash party.

there was a pool and hors d'oeuvres
and we all wore suits

and we were hitting 

it off !  i mean, rappin bout

GMOs, being

vegan paleo,

like, Monsanto -- all that shit.

then Portia told me

that I have great hair

(kind of true) and I said, "oh,
I use [Shampoo X]"

and then Ellen says,
"what ?  you know that [Shampoo X]
is made of bison

spinal fluid, right ?"
or some crazy shit like that.
the needle falls off

the record.  SHIT STOPS.
Ellen puts her drink down and
goes, "you make me sick."

and i'm all tryin
to play it cool and say, "yeah
but look at my hair."

when it was just you and me

you bit my ankles,
i'd lock you out in the rain.
remember those days ?