Lady K

          IT RAINS O BOY O MAN

i would call out but not gutturally

gutters spending pounds in grained, brown metal
an empty window of the living room made.

i will not look through.

i will not focus eyes on ethereal sound boxes.

i will fight the drip and drain.

my neck is a telegraph wire
on a poleskin. however, my
arms legs and torso do imitate
my animals,
who sprawl and splay
relaxed versions of their
body.

(hairying me couch, o my.

shades make a
lacy leaf projector.
means a bright wake
for me, summer times,
when i rises late. to

i like you.

you are going away.

in colder months only
yellow boxes, the walls.

i cant focus eyes on relaxed bodies in ethereal
boxes of made sounds
via gutters, from windows empty.
not pets.

i must concentrate on sending
the messages. on wires. in my
breathing, trimmed-tree of a sack,
what excuse i'ave of a body, with-animal.

Bree

          ALL-THERE BUT OFF-RECORD

..things like throwing
away hole-threwd
shoes so u can't keep
wearing them, obstructing
clomp.

never learnd to use a dresser.

we even drug a bit rusty
file cabinet into our office
slash living-room, now
lies empty,
having tried and losed.

and no merit, either, on
keeping a-track of

1 Mind Wander
into forest loom of branch
lit by thunder crack or
crikit thunder.

2 Clothes; i've
lost my new-bought solid
tee already.

3 What i Send

4 Where What i Keep
is Kept.

Bree

BREE is a Cleveland poet and wife, and the lady behind Green Panda Press, which publishes poartry at happy hour prices.