Housesitting

I've got that feeling in my stomach, full and slightly burning, like I've just drunk orange juice, and my hair is growing longer by the day, and this couch is starting to talk to me with its dull and muffled voice. As I lay on the carpeted floor of this house I feel the softsharp bristles, and think back to effortlessness, to carefreedom. Although I once looked up at treetops and saw some clear, crisp freedom up there, I think now that freedom is down here. Pushing myself along and trudjing, my skirt hiked up and jealous, there's nothing I wouldn't do to be sure that I will remember that the grass is not greener, that the grass is just grass, that the other side is really just another side, and I'm tired of taking sides. Wary of the potholes but pleased to meet another day, I head out. My kittycat grin is why I love this road, love this road to roads to roads and roads.

Excerpts From Something

III.

Fish-step,
Gills laugh,
Though chokes on air.
Shining the scales
The mountain.
Hook, barb,
Pleads with
Whole body--
(Please?)--
Maybe.

IV.

Broken record

Stops when

You want.

Chair turns

Backwards, falls.

Kicked dog dishes

Crawls out from under,

Scrubbed raw--

If only we saw

The wood grain

Under our plates and

Our feet.

V.

Chimney sweep.

Can't keep,

Can't sleep while

Embers breathe.

Over-steeped tea,

Over-slept, we

Stepped over

Pastures green,

Grey sky.

Burning leaves dry,

Sparks float up,

Grounded by

Wood-chopping dreams.